


First Impressions

by Ook



Category: Marvel Avengers Movie Universe, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Powers, Author is not using her knowledge of tax and inheritance law here, Cats, Charles Is a Darling, Crossover, Edie Lensherr is awesome, Erik Does Not Communicate Well, Erik jumps to conclusions, Hurt/Comfort, Like that's a surprise, M/M, Past Abuse, Self Esteem Issues, Teeeny Tiny, Variable POVs, and falls in love, kink meme prompt, so very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this kinkmeme prompt: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8700.html?thread=18764028#t18764028</p><p>The first time Erik Lensherr, CEO of Eisenhardt Enterprises, met Charles Xavier he might just have called him a homeless drop out and accused him of being a junkie, before realising he was a waiter. He almost apologised.</p><p>The second time Erik Lensherr met Charles Xavier, he was volunteering at the soup kitchen, and Erik definitely (In Charles's opinion) accused him of being a thoughtless freeloader and slacker. He did apologise. Eventually.</p><p>The third time Erik met Charles, he hit him with his car. This was definitely not on purpose. Erik didn't actually ever say he was sorry, but he did end up taking Charles home with him, that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another AU, this one powerless, in which bad things have happened/are happening to Charles, and then I ladle on the rescuing and defiance and hurt comfort.
> 
> If you don't like that sort of thing, I am sorry. If you do, enjoy! (And let me know)

So, the first time Erik met Charles, he thought he was a drug addict. In his defence, Erik felt, it was a reasonable mistake to make, at the time. Or so he always maintained, whenever the situation came up. Charles, being a ruthless, heartless bastard when he wanted something, took shameless advantage of this. Erik would have complained, except he considered a ruthless Charles to be one of the more arousing sights in the world.

They met for the first time at some charity free-for-all Eisenhardt Inc was sponsoring, in aid of rehabilitation clinics for drug addicts. Emma had arranged it. Being Erik's lawyer meant she wasn't able to cause Erik enough suffering by herself; she needed to engage an army of PR people, celebrities, well meaning do gooders and, of course, junkies and ex junkies.

Erik drank his glass of white sparkling paint stripper. It was vile. He wondered, aloud, why these organisations insisted on doing cheap and dreadful imitations of good alcohol instead of just holding their hands up and going “You know, we spend money on Good Works, not booze- give us money now, and you can all go home early, bitches.”  
“Because drunk people donate more, mighty leader.” Az said, from behind him, cheerfully.  
“Wear a god-damn bell, next time!” Erik snarled, as a friendly greeting to his employee once he had recovered from the brief flood of adrenalin said employee's sudden appearance had caused.

“You said you never wished to know what I got up to with your secretary. But for you, next time, there will be-” Az smiled like a demon.  
“Shut up before I fire you.” Familiar and- for them- friendly greetings thus exchanged, the two men stared at the throng before them.  
Erik spoke, hopefully. “Can we go yet?”  
“Ms Frost informed me that your presence was required for four hours. It has only been two.” Az said, happily. His boss's sufferings made him enjoy the evening. This made the time pass faster. Also, he had brought his own vodka.

“What if I offer to pay twice as much cash?”  
“To me?” Az said, hopefully. Erik frowned.  
“To the charity!”  
“No.” Az said, with great finality. Erik sighed, and looked about for a new glass of paint stripper.  
“I'm pretty sure I employ you. Shouldn't I own your obedience, or something?” he said, absently, scanning the crowds for a familiar face he could bear to talk to, unsuccessfully.  
“I'm pretty sure Ms Frost owns all our souls, and I have no desire to add my testicles to her possession.” Az said firmly. Both men shivered, minutely, at the thought of an angry Emma Frost, before going in search of more booze.

\-------------------------

Charles' eyes were burning with tiredness. He had had less than five hours sleep in the last two days, and it was beginning to show. Working an extra event when he already had two paying jobs plus his volunteering was not a good idea from the point of view of needing some sleep. From the point of view of his bank balance, however, it was a very good idea. He would already be living on ramen or beans and rice this month, which he was used to, but it was looking like he might not be able to afford his pet food bill either, which was not, as far as he was concerned, an option.

Raven was enjoying college, far more than Charles thought he would have done, if he'd been able to go for more than a term. But college was expensive, and he was determined she would get a good education, and get out of the traps dear, _dear_ Kurt and Cain seemed determined to scatter in their wake. Raven had a work study programme, of course, refusing to let her brother pay her way completely. But all the books on her required reading list were painfully expensive, and so, when a chance for a few more hours work for a good cause came along, Charles simply popped a few caffeine pills, ignoring the way they made his hands jittter, and set to.

He was quietly astonished at how much booze the assembled celebs, politicians, charity workers and former addicts appeared to be able to sink. Then he looked at the finger food that was being served, and he knew why. It was to get the taste out of their mouths. A pity; he'd hoped to be able to take a bag home that might feed him for a day or two, but the food was vile. The caterers were known for their cutting edge offerings; but clearly they needed a sharpener or two in their kitchens right now.  
Charles plucked up a platter and swept back into the ballroom, fixing a server's smile- bright, not too friendly, and hopefully concealing his strong desire to be in bed with a book and his cats- to his face, he carried on earning his keep.

\----------------------------------------

Erik sighed. Still two hours to go before he could leave with his honour and his balls intact. He squared his shoulders. He was strong; he could endure any torment for a mere two hours. He was the iron in Eisenhardt, after all. He didn’t think about leaving early and lying about it. Az had been perfectly correct about Emma owning their souls. The woman was possessed of unnatural powers; if he left now, she would _know_ , and his life would be hell for far longer than two hours. 

The waiters and waitresses were no help; seeming to avoid Erik without paying attention to him. Erik wondered if Emma had paid them all off to stay away from him. Again. He should never have told her of his habit of “accidentally” spilling his drink/food on himself, so he had to leave early. That had always been a brilliant move, in his opinion, and it wasn’t as if he’d do that every time; and certainly not here, he was rather afraid that the wine would dissolve his clothes. Perhaps the food would help take away the taste of the alcohol. If he could just locate some.

Erik spotted one of the elusive waitpersons. It was male, short , brown haired, and skinny, dressed in a tux that didn’t quite fit. Erik’s eyes narrowed as he took in further incriminatory details, apart from the food he was offering. The waitperson was unhealthily pale and thin, with reddened eyes that had huge bags under them. The tray that held the tiny canapés was shaking very slightly. Hmm. Jittery, sallow, nervous, and unhealthy? Erik thought the boy was probably a drug addict. 

Az rematerialised at Erik’s elbow, causing him to jump slightly and in no way to yelp like a startled dog. The waitbeing’s brilliantly blue eyes cut across to them at the sudden noise, catching Erik’s suspicious glare. Erik continued to stare, until the waitperson flushed, and looked elsewhere. Erik voiced his suspicions about the waitperson’s life choices, causing Az to stare at him silently for a long moment. Erik stared back at him, determinedly. Eventually, after a long pause, Az spoke, calmly.

“You skipped lunch again, didn’t you?” he said, carefully.  
“Ye- What has that got to do with anything?” Erik demanded, indignantly  
“You are always paranoid when you have low blood sugar. Come. You must eat.” And, heedless of Erik’s muttered comments, Az walked them both towards the possible junkie wait being. Erik would have resisted, but Az had been trained in many disturbing Eastern European- possibly Russian, Erik had never bothered about the details- forms of hand to hand and knew just how to position his clasp on Erik’s arm. While it _looked_ both friendly and unromantic to the careless eye, in reality, Erik had to move where Az wanted him to go, or else risk numbness and temporary paralysis. 

“I will _fire_ you, don’t think I won’t.” he hissed, before they got into hearing range. Az smiled at him, beatifically.  
“Try one of these… what are these?” Az asked the wait being. He frowned at the little brownish mounds on his slate tray and said, in a slightly hoarse and upper class accent:  
“We’re not quite sure. They could be the mushroom foam bites with the seaweed topping, or they could be the crab sensations.” He brandished the polished piece of stone at them, a little hopefully. Erik told himself he was immune to puppy eyes, even ones so deeply blue. 

“They look like shit.” Erik said, bluntly. Az sighed. The waitperson tensed. Erik ignored him; he didn’t care he might have offended this Jeeves’ delicate sensibilities. He tried one of the mystery foods. “They taste like it, too.”  
“I am sorry- please don’t do that.” Erik tried to place the uneaten half of the crab-or-mushroom bite back on the tray. The wait person side stepped him, neatly.  
“Well, what should I do with it? I'm not _eating_ it."  
“There’s a number of bins, sir-“ He protested. Erik decided he was a kill joy, as well as an addict. This was the closest to _not bored_ he’d been all night.

“But you’re right here-“ Erik smiled, and stepped closer to the waiter, again.  
“Other people will be eating this food, sir I really don’t think-“ The waiter moved back.  
“I don’t think they will.” Erik continued to pursue him. Az shook his head in mild disbelief. He reached out again, and the waiter moved the tray, sharply. Erik grinned. He was having fun, and the waiter pinked up quite prettily. He could do this all night. Then, disaster struck. 

The waiter jerked the tray away and stepped back at the wrong moment, stumbling into another guest behind him. He slipped. The tray went one way, and the waiter went the other, with the guest- a fake blonde in a too tight red silk dress- getting a cleavage full of mystery brown foam. She shrieked like a fire alarm. The waiter blanched a deathly grey, and began to apologise, desperately, to her. Erik felt ignored and unloved. He said so, to Az. Az glared at him, for a long moment. He muttered something Erik did not think he would have liked, if he’d been able to understand it.

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault, that was the junkie’s!” Erik protested, realising a second too late that he had not used his discreet voice. The waiter and the guest both stared at him. He gave them his best toothy smile, and awarded himself two points when they both recoiled.  
“You. You go home _now_.” Az said to him, furiously. Erik felt a leap of gladness, closely followed by suspicion. Az would never suggest anything that Erik wanted to do unless-  
“But Emma-“ he protested.

“Her last instructions to me were to prevent you causing a scene.” Az hissed. “Is this-“ he gestured at the stained dress and miserable, weary, waiter- “looking like a scene to you? Because it does to me.” Erik had to concede that he had a point.  
“I’ll apologise?” he offered. His mother had always been approving of Erik’s apologies, at least, if not his inability to avoid having to give them. Az rolled his eyes.  
“Go. Home.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Erik was a man who prided himself on knowing his own and his employees’ gifts and limitations. 

He went home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emma's retribution theoretically back fires, people play chess and put their feet in their mouths.

Erik was forced to admit to himself that Emma’s idea of appropriate suffering was not his own. She had been very angry with him over the charity debacle, as Az had predicted. He protested that it was not his fault and he’d never intended to leave early. He’d paid for the fake blonde’s dry cleaning. He was still creeping past Emma’s office on his way into work He’d even tried to find the contact details for the wait being, to apologise or something, but apparently he’d only been a temp, and they weren’t planning on hiring him again. Erik did feel a little guilty about that, but he tried not to brood over things he couldn’t do anything about.

Emma had not been convinced, by his or Az’s repentance, though. She declared he was now banned from all charitable social events for six months. He’d been too busy trying to hide his delight to say no when she told him he was going to volunteer at some charity project or other instead.   
“Homeless or kids?” she demanded. Erik blinked.  
“What?”  
“I’ve two projects on my desk at the moment; you can either give time at the Brotherhood Shelter or the X-Men Youth Project.” Erik winced. Neither sounded like fun.   
“What do I have to do?”  
“At the Shelter? Unskilled labour; make soup, talk to homeless people, wash floors. The Youth project is mentoring and learning support.” Emma said, shortly.

“What is Az doing?” Erik said, suspiciously. He wouldn’t put it past his employee to get into cahoots with Janos, and manage to avoid Emma’s wrath entirely. Emma sighed, and tapped her exquisitely manicured fingers on her desk, meaningfully.  
“Whichever project you don’t take. I will be filling for you both socially.” She smiled, meaningfully.  
Erik considered.

A youth project meant… children. He was no good with children. They tended to cry when he smiled at them. On the other hand, the homeless project might involve more poor food. Still, he’d probably be preparing it rather than eating it, so.  
“Brotherhood. I’ll do the Brotherhood.”  
“You start there on Saturday. 7 AM. Two hours a weekend, for the next six months. Be there, or prepare for eternal torment on Monday.” She smiled, grimly.

Erik steeled himself.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Charles sometimes thought he got far more out of volunteering than the homeless people the Brotherhood Shelter cared for did. He was happy there, often. There was always something that needed doing, or people who needed listening to, and none of them, however cranky, or crazy or lost, were as rude or annoying as some of his customers at the bar or the coffee shop.

Plus, they fed him. It was a policy of the shelter that the volunteers always ate with the service users; it prevented institutionalisation, made homeless people feel more equal, and ensured the food was always nutritious, tasty and well prepared. Charles could see the wisdom of the policy quite apart form the direct benefit of free meals.  
In a month like this one; where even the ramen was being stretched thinly enough to cover two meals and the cats were still always hungry, a free lunch or two made all the difference between coping and not coping. And coping was important, as much for Raven as for Charles himself.

Working at the shelter made life easier. Charles felt he had a use, a purpose there, beyond being a pair of hands to provide beer or coffee to strangers. Working as long hours as he did meant he had little time for socialization; he’d been feeling a little alone lately. Probably it just meant he was tired, and missing his sister. He just needed to pull himself together again. He’d had hard months before, he’d survived. He’d dealt with annoying customers and rude before, too. He was a grown man. He could cope. He’d always coped before. Even if the damn catering company had only paid him half his wages, because of the accident. 

They’d been muttering about not paying him at all, but the drug tests the woman who’d got spilled on had demanded had all come back clean. Charles supposed it was hardly surprising people had been thinking about drug abuse, given the nature of the charity event he’d been working at. Sometimes people just jumped to conclusions.

Charles had brought the cats with him today. Someone had donated cat food, and Moira, the head of the shelter, had said she was willing to take Charles’s cats on as socialising volunteers for the day, providing Charles was willing to feed them whatever had been donated. Wolverine, a dark brown, mostly Maine Coon cat, and Sabretooth, his paler brother from the same litter, were therefore happily wandering the quiet room, demanding petting and worship from the lucky souls ensconced therein, staff and homeless alike. Charles was hoping to spend some time in that room himself, once the washing up was done.

Charles wasn’t worried about the cats’ well being. The children at the shelter loved the cats, which were well able to enforce good treatment through teeth and claws, if necessary. And the older shelter users loved the quiet, non-human affection and reminders of the positive side of domestic life the cats offered.

\----------------------

Emma’s punishment had almost totally backfired. Erik was enjoying himself, without being in the office or making people cry. This was bizarre and strange. He’d helped paint a room, chopped over 9,000 onions and washed various floors. It reminded him of being back at home. Not the fancy, slightly empty place he inhabited now, but back when he was a boy, fetching and carrying for his mother. He’d been booked to volunteer for two hours, but he hadn’t got anything organised for the rest of the day, and he’d just… stayed. The staff and homeless people- and frankly he couldn’t tell which was which half the time- had been wary of him at first, until he proved he knew what real work was, and hadn’t just come down to look good.

The project centre had an empty plot out back; and Erik was already planning, with the project’s head permission, to take over their attempts at developing it into another branch of the centre. The new block would mostly be small apartments, the shared kind, suitable for young people, who needed a kind of helping hand to get used to living off the street, or paying rent or whatever. Erik wandered into the so-called quiet room, where people went to read books, sleep sitting up, or stay out of the weather. Absently, he turned over figures in his mind. Moira had some funding, for the staff that’d be needed, and Erik or Eisenhardt could supply the rest. Probably. He could tap a few business friends; Tony was always looking for places to put his money, for example.

He’d toss out the planning requirements to a couple of departments; see if he could get some could designs going… A cat made a loud, demanding cry near his feet. Erik jumped. He stared at the enormous cat. The cat stared back. This went on for some time. A voice spoke, making the cat look round, and breaking the staring competition.

“Wolverine wants you to stroke him.”   
“What?” That voice sounded both vaguely English and vaguely familiar. Erik squinted at the speaker, sat in front of a table on a straight chair. He was also vaguely familiar, although Erik was not sure where from.  
“The cat. He’s called Wolverine.”   
“And he wants me to stroke him. Is he homeless, too? I didn’t realise-” The familiar stranger smiled. Erik bent to stroke the cat, which sniffed at his fingers, appraisingly.  
“No, he’s a volunteer. Like me. And you?” His eyes, Erik noticed, were very blue. Belatedly, he realised there had been a question asked.

“Oh, yes, yes, I- my lawyer arranged it.” There was a chair nearby, in front of the stranger’s table with a chess set on it. Erik moved the chess set to the table, sat down, and allowed his lap to be colonised by the cat. The cat settled in, flowing over Erik’s lap and lower limbs, gracefully, and then becoming mysteriously heavy, while Erik stroked him.   
“I’m Erik.” He didn’t bother with his surname; they seemed to be unfashionable around here. Possibly some charity thing, Erik wasn’t sure. He fiddled with the nearest pawn.  
“Charles.” The other offered “Do you play?” The no longer stranger cocked his head at the table.  
“What?”

“Chess. I’m rather afraid you’re probably pinned for the duration. Wolverine’s got very sharp claws, and he doesn’t mind using them if his furniture moves suddenly.” Charles grinned at him.  
“Thank you for the warning.” Erik said, dryly. “Yes, a little. Do you play?”  
“Oh, just a _little._ Fancy a game?”  
“Why not?” Erik braced himself. Bad chess always left a bad taste in his mouth, but the room was quiet, and the cat was pleasant. Erik liked cats, privately. They did not always return the favour, though Wolverine seemed quite comfortable where he was. Erik traced a finger down the cat’s ears; one was ragged and chewed, as if the cat had been in more than one fight.

“White or black?” Charles inquired, affably as he set the board up.  
“Black, please.” That would give Charles the advantage, which would make the game a little interesting, however bad at chess he was. Charles spun the board and grinned at him.  
“Are you ready for this?” he said, hand hovering above his first piece.  
“Let’s find out.” Erik grinned back at him.

Erik bit back a groan as he lost another one of his pawns. He regretted suggesting Charles play white, now. Charles was good at this.  
“You’re good at this.” He said aloud. Charles smirked.  
“You sound surprised.”  
“Maybe I am.” Erik smirked back. It doesn’t matter they’re playing it in a battered day room furnished with elderly furniture, seven books, two couches and two disinterested cats. Chess this good is a pure pleasure for Erik, pitting mind against mind and strategy against strategy; better than fine surroundings or beautiful things.

Erik moves a piece. Charles nibbles gently on his full lower lip in a way Erik finds extremely distracting. He decides to retaliate.  
“So, are you here full time?” Charles seems to be the do-gooder type, and with an accent like that he probably doesn’t have to work. Unless he wanted to, Erik reminded himself.  
“Oh, n-no, that is I-“ Charles flushes, and looks away. Erik tries to smooth the matter over with sarcasm.   
“Ah, a part time slacker like me, then? Or are you just in it for” He waves a hand around “the _benefits?_ ” It doesn’t work. Charles hunches his shoulders, looking miserable.

“I put a few hours a week; when I can afford to, but with work-“ he breaks off, and moves a pawn, randomly. And, just like that, looking at Charles defensive and miserable, Erik places him. He’s the wait being. Mr Mushroom Foam/Crab Surprise. The waiter Erik corrects himself, furiously. He hopes to all the powers that be, Charles doesn’t recognise him from that evening. The chess game dissolves, badly. Charles is completely off his game, and Erik tries not to feel guilty. He only asked the other man a couple of innocent questions, after all. But watching the increasingly harried former waiter shift his king around the board leaves a bad taste in Erik’s mouth. 

Eventually, Charles tips the chess piece on its side, and gives Erik a strangely sweet, sad smile, saying  
“I resign.” There’s a long moment of silence, before Wolverine leaps from Erik’s lap, ramming all his (very long, very sharp) claws into Erik’s thighs as he goes. Erik thinks the cat’s related to Emma, somehow. Erik blames this pain for distracting him, letting Charles back away, mumbling about deadlines and being late for work, before Erik can catch hold of him to apologise, either for being an asshole then, or now, or just generally. He starts putting the pieces away, watching as Charles silently corrals the cats- _his_ cats Erik realises- and flees.

Erik goes in search of band aids, disinfectant, and possibly sympathy.


	3. Chapter 3

This past couple of months have been harder than most, but Charles is quite proud of how he’s managing to cope. Raven’s doing well; all her books are bought (second or third hand, mostly, but still.) Her grades are good. Charles hopes this will become the norm. She’s joined a theatre group; she says she’s only going to be a backstage worker, but Charles knows his sister. Sooner or later she’ll be centre stage, in the spotlight. She was born to be there. Unlike Charles, who can’t even manage a simple game of chess with a good looking man, without putting his foot in it.

Charles thinks about avoiding the Brotherhood Shelter for a few weeks, just till the embarrassment of having his flaws pointed out in public disappears. But really, the shelter needs all the help in can get, and avoiding the place and the people because he’s afraid of meeting up with chess-playing-Erik again is just selfish. He takes care not to be considered a free loader or slacker again, though. He gets involved with the harder jobs, the dirty ones, cleaning and lifting and carrying, rather than spending time in the quiet room. He takes care not to be around at the main mealtimes too often. A coffee and a donated pastry or two are just as good, really.

Charles spots Erik in the distance a couple of times, but, mercifully, the man is caught up in planning the next stage of the Brotherhood’s development, and doesn’t notice him. Moira waxes eloquent about his dedication, so Charles just keeps his head down and tries not to ruin things for everyone else. While Charles has Raven and his cats to think of, he can’t give up.

However much he feels like crawling under his bed and just staying there until the landlord comes to remove his cat gnawed corpse. If he’d bother doing that; he might just spray some air freshener around and leave it at that; the man is not the most dedicated of businessmen. Sometimes he finds himself getting hot and dizzy and breathless, signs he’s doing too much work on too little fuel. Charles is used to it. He knows he should be careful, but it’s just so much easier to chew a stolen sugar lump and carry on. He paces himself a little more, leaves extra time to cycle from place to place, and he copes.

No one needs to hear about his problems; almost everyone who comes to the Brotherhood has much worse to cope with than being a little short on cash and sleep. People who have suffered neglect, abuse, violence; who have been pushed to the outskirts of society use the shelter, and are relying on Charles to help them, not the other way around. Cash _is_ becoming a bigger problem, lately. Sleep, Charles is used to not getting, but he didn’t realise how much breathing room the extra jobs he got from the catering company gave him, until they were gone. 

He’s seriously thinking of finding Wolverine and Sabretooth another home; feeding them is becoming more tricky. Charles can go on living on bread or ramen for a day or two more. His pets can’t. Charles looks into getting a paper round, or some other third job. He redoubles his efforts at the bar, and hopes for bigger tips. Now and then customers offer him dinner, likely in the hope he’ll be willing to go for breakfast as well, but he ignores that option, for the moment. Wolverine and Sabretooth can’t be left alone overnight. 

He copes. Charles is good at coping. He still wishes he could play another game of chess with Erik, though.

\----------------------------

 

Erik hates many things. Right now, he hates (in no particular order): His life, this traffic jam, his inability to shut up, the people in his car, and, once again, his life.  
“No, really, your tender feelings are crushed because a man you insulted refuses to play chess with you?” Az chortles, wiping his eyes. Janos is giggling, and even Victor, Erik’s driver and portable wall of muscle, lets out an amused snort. Erik is firing all his employees and going to live in Hawaii. He will not fire Emma, of course, because she (still) owns his soul, and a large amount of blackmail materiel, but everyone else can start expecting pink slips in the mail, stat.

He says as much, but finds it’s ineffective in getting Az, Janos and Victor to stop laughing at him. He retreats into a dignified silence, which is absolutely not sulking. Erik does not sulk. Sulking is not manly, so of course, Erik does not sulk.  
“Have ya tried just _apologising_ to the kid?” Victor growls, without turning his head.  
“I can’t get near enough to him to talk! He runs away, or finds something else to do.”  
“Ya want some help tracking him down? Victor raises an eyebrow. Victor’s “tracking” skills are nearly legendary, or at least they would be if they stayed solely on the legal side of things. Janos and Az stop laughing.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure stalking him won’t help.” Erik says, reluctantly. He has considered it, of course, but had decided it would be counter-productive. Nothing says creepy and desperate like finding out where someone lives because you like the way they play chess. No, Erik, concludes, sadly, he must just endure the suffering. Perhaps if he’s patient, one day he can apologise to Charles for accidentally insulting him over a homeless person’s chessboard. As long as Charles still stays with the Brotherhood, even part time, Erik has a chance to do this.

Erik just hopes Charles never puts two and two together and remembers him from that drugs charity party. Erik’s dreams hopes of chess games and conversations will almost certainly go right out of the window if Charles realises that Erik’s the man who got him to throw his food over a guest at the party. Idly, he wonders if Emma knew that Charles volunteered at the Brotherhood Shelter and (according to Moira) the X Youth Project, too. Forcing him into Charles’s proximity would be just like her; she always makes sure any punishments she inflicts are as poetic as they are painful.

“You skipped breakfast again, didn’t you?” Az says, patiently. Janos hands, or tries to hand Erik, a cereal bar. Erik ignores it. Janos drops it on his lap, and then Erik eats it in less than four bites. The others look at each other meaningfully.  
“Damnit, hunger does not make me paranoid!” Erik snaps.  
“Just bad tempered.” Janos says, thoughtfully. “Cheer up. Things will get better.” He pats Erik’s arm, soothingly. “You will see him again next week maybe?” Erik represses a snarl. He is _not_ a teenage girl, damnit.

“I’m sure the kid’ll fall at your feet soon enough,” Victor grunts, smirking.   
“Shut. Up.” Erik grits out. Silence reigns in the car for perhaps five minutes. And then there is a loud sounding thump, and a yelp. Vic curses, as the car swerves. Erik bangs his head.  
“What was that?” Az demands, indignantly. “Vic, did you just have a-“  
“I think we hit a cyclist or something.”

They have.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car accident, a kidnapping, and the cats.

When Charles opens his eyes, he’s not sure where he is, or why. The room he’s in is not his own- it is too clean and new, and furnished with pieces that (a) match and (b) are not old in the bad way. There’s a flavour to it that says “guest room” or possibly “hotel” rather than “prison cell” or “hospital”, though. Charles squints at the light coming through the window, trying to work out the time of day. He is alone, which knocks out a few options as to where he is and how he got there. 

Charles has some blurred memories to sort through; riding his bike to pick up his cats- Angel had been watching them-, then some kind of accident? Did his bike hit something? Charles glances down his body, and tallies up; bruises, aches and pains, and a cast on one arm. A broken bone, maybe. Charles is glad he appears to be wearing someone else’s T-shirt and sweatpants. The effort of finding and putting on clothes with a broken arm feels like it would be too much. Also waking up naked in a strange room would probably be very much more disturbing than wondering who exactly undressed and redressed him the night before. 

Although being undressed and redressed while unconscious is not exactly good for his nerves, either. At least Charles knows whoever tucked him in was either concerned about keeping him warm or didn’t want to look at his scrawny body nude. Or something. His head hurts, and his arm aches, sharply.

It’s nothing he’s not used to, but the cast concerns him. Did he visit the hospital? He racks his brains, and remembers white walls, the smell of disinfectant, and worrying about hospital bills, possibly vocally. At some point, he recalls someone demanding his house keys and cell phone. Maybe he was mugged. No, his keys and wallet are right there on the bedside table. He remembers Chinese take out, egg drop soup, and rice so if anyone was mugged, it probably wasn’t him. He hasn’t been able to afford take away food since last year. He must have eaten quite a bit; he remembers his stomach actually hurting with the amount he’d put in it.

After that, Charles remembers nothing much but warm darkness, the soft, deep darkness of sleep after enough food, in a comfortable bed. It shouldn’t be as unusual as it feels. Someone woke him with pills and water, once, or twice. He was too tired to protest then. There’s another glass of water by the bed. No pills though. Charles drinks the water, and becomes aware he needs a bathroom, and also people. He needs answers. Prising himself out of bed proves to be harder than he anticipated. His arm aches, and his thoughts are fuzzy and slow; either from sleeping or from whatever was in the pills.

“I do hope I haven’t been kidnapped.” He murmurs to himself as he shuffles away from the on suite bathroom. There’s a new toothbrush there, still in its cellophane, but he doesn’t risk using it. Charles uses toothpaste and his finger for a quick freshener. He casts a longing view at the bath, which looks deep and lovely, but he really does need answers. Also, clothes.

He can hear voices somewhere, as he opens the door to the bedroom (he’s not locked in, that’s always good. Charles hates being trapped.) He stumbles out his bedroom, only to be faced by an entirely unhelpful corridor. He listens, still slightly fuzzy (must be the pills) and makes his choice. Charles moves towards the voices.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Charles’s cats are demonic in nature, Erik thinks. He rules out simple possession; their evil minds and ways are far too devious for that. He thinks he has to introduce them to Emma, soon. He’s not sure who would win. It should be the show down of the century. He turns a page of the newspaper, ignoring their joint stares, and takes another forkful of scrambled eggs. Sabretooth leaps away to inspect the shelves again. Wolverine continues to stare. Erik keeps an eye on him from behind the newspaper, in case the cat starts edging towards his breakfast again. 

How did it come to this? Threatened by cats. Erik Lensherr is the CEO of a prosperous company, which he built with the sweat of his brain and his own two hands after Shaw (damn him), took advantage of the disarray in Erik’s father’s company after he died, and moved in for the kill. Erik had been seventeen, unable to control the board of director’s fears, and had lost the last thing his father had wanted to give him.

Oh, there had been plenty of money made in the transaction, but Erik hadn’t been interested in that. Lensherr & Son had been his childhood; he’d grown up playing on the factory floor (until his mother had caught up with him and hauled him into the office, or back to school). Shaw hadn’t been interested in that. Or in manufacturing anything. He’d disposed of the patents, dumped the employees, and sold off the factory sites as prime real estate, tearing Erik’s father’s company and legacy apart for mere profit. An old, bitter taste rises in Erik’s mouth.

Wolverine rumbles a low noise not unlike that of a concrete mixer attempting to purr, and Erik is jerked back from his familiar, sour reverie. Apparently, it is his turn to steal Erik’s food. Wolverine gives him a steady look, before glancing away.  
“Can we talk about this?” Erik says. The cat tilts his head, and begins to wash one paw, deliberately flexing it so the claws are visible.  
“Seriously, your friend already had all the bacon.” He shakes the newspaper, raising it to barricade his plate from the steady gaze of the cat. He turns a page, and starts to read again.

He’s glad the cats are here though. Charles had been more worried about them than himself, despite the broken arm and the cut forehead. Erik thinks that the cats already being in this house will hopefully keep Charles here a little longer. The doctor had told Erik at the hospital that Charles needs plenty of vitamins, rest and good food. Words like “anaemia” “calcium deficiency” and “sleep deprivation” had been tossed around, with the serious faces and voices medical experts use when they want people to pay attention.

Charles had been almost completely out of it by then; a combination of exhaustion, shock and painkillers reducing him to a man with a two track mind; cats and hospital bills.  
“I can’t afford to stay here.” He’d explained to Erik, very earnestly. “Hospital bills are terrible. I need to feed the cats.” Repeatedly, with occasional wistful references to a raven and also the NHS. Erik isn’t sure he understands why an apparent adult like Charles can not _notice_ he’s working himself into the ground and starving himself on top of that, but he’s not going to judge. If it hadn’t been for his friends and minions, Erik is pretty sure he might have done the same, back in the early days of Eisenhardt Inc.

And really, it’s very simple, in Erik’s mind. Charles needs rest and food and looking after. Erik can do all of that. It is going to be easier to look after him here, in Erik’s almost empty house, than trailing back to whatever place Charles had, on a regular basis. 

Plus, he has a chess set here, and Charles might not have one at home.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Charles moves towards the sound of voices and finds himself in someone’s kitchen. Wolverine is sitting on the table, primly upright, and slowly oozing towards the man sat behind the newspaper opposite, in a much prettier and slower version of a landslide.  
“No.” The familiar voice comes from behind a newspaper. “Go bother your friend. He ate the bacon.” Wolverine mews, pointedly. The news paper rustles, as a page is turned, and Wolverine sticks a paw under it. “I am immune to your charms and pleadings.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wolverine has always been a bit- how did my cats get here?” The newspaper drops, hitting Wolverine, who leapt elegantly aside, before continuing his stealth assault on Erik’s plate.   
“Janos fetched them.” Erik says, vaguely, as he gives Charles a searching look.  
“Janos?” Charles flushes. Erik doesn’t blink.  
“My secretary. You were a little worried about them being with their minder too long.”  
“Yes… I’m afraid I don’t remember all that much; I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself too badly.” Charles is pretty sure he did, but he wants to start his apologies early.

With a rare grace, Erik doesn’t mention the fretting about bills. He doesn’t want Charles to start worrying himself over something Erik is planning to take care of himself.  
“Not more so than anyone else who’s been in a traffic accident. How’s your head?” He smiles, warmly- maybe too warmly, as Charles blinks, apparently surprised.  
“I- not too bad.” Charles falters. His hand drifts up to the three stitches on his temple, and he winces. Erik decodes a need for more painkillers. And food.  
“That’s good. Sit down, you look pale.” Erik says, briskly. He steps away to the stove as Charles slowly selects a seat and drops into it. “Juice and glasses are on the table, if you’re thirsty.”

Wolverine and Sabre tooth both ignore the food in favour of harassing their lord and master for snuggling and petting. Charles fumbles himself a glass of juice- freshly squeezed, what a luxury- and pays them serious, one handed attention. He looks up surprised, as a plate is set down by his elbow.  
“Eat. You need to take most of your pills with food.” A smaller glass with half a dozen pills rattling around in it follows the plate of eggs and toast. Charles stares. The toast has been buttered and cut into squares already, arranged around the plate like a barrier. The cats sniff at it, and move away. “The cats have already been fed.” Erik says, waving at them.

“I. Um. What are those?” Charles gestures at the pills. He takes a mouthful of eggs, to show willing. They are amazing.  
“Whatever the hospital prescribed. Antibiotics, painkillers, vitamins-“ Erik shrugs, carelessly. He doesn’t mention the supplements were recommended by the hospital, but not prescribed. Erik got them anyway. 

Charles blinks again. How kind. He’ll have to pay Erik back, of course, but in the meantime- his train of thought is derailed by the taste of the scrambled eggs.  
“Mmff- I mean, thank you.” He mumbles, thickly, through a mouthful of toast. Erik smiles again, and Charles is briefly blinded by the glory of his teeth.

He does his best to keep his chewing and swallowing polite, but even after the barely remembered take out last night, Charles is starving. He cleans his plate in record time, and it all tastes delicious. The cats stare at him, mildly disgruntled. They expect some tribute at breakfast or brunch. Or whatever this meal is. Charles ignores them as he swallows down the pills with some more juice. Erik takes the plates away and loads them into the gleaming dishwasher. The newspaper is folded up, and Erik whisks a cloth over the table.

A mostly comfortable silence falls, then, with Erik contemplating the mysteries of the coffee maker. Charles stares at his hands, as he tries to sort out the tumbling thoughts in his mind. Belly full, he’s starting to wonder. Charles has questions.

Questions like: “Why am I here?” is followed by “What do you want?” and then the unlikely “have I been kidnapped?” rears its head, followed by the much more likely “when are you going to kick us out?” and, of course:  
“Why the cats?”  
“I told you, you kept worrying about them.” Erik says, calmly. Oh. He’d said that one aloud. “Yes, you did.” Erik sounds like he’s grinning. Charles blinks as Erik urges him to his feet.  
“But-” Charles starts, slowly. Erik interrupts, talking quickly as they walk.

“We thought, seeing as you didn’t want to stay at the hospital, and they didn’t want to let you go home alone, that bringing you and your cats to mine would be easiest.” Erik settles Charles onto the couch. Charles looks around. This looks like Erik’s living room.  
“For whom?”   
“Everyone.” Erik falters and then says, grinning “I didn’t think you’d want trouble, so-” Charles flinches. _Cause trouble?_ No, he never wants to do that. It just happens.  
“I- I’m sorry. I don’t-“ He’s done it again, Charles thinks, miserably. His shoulders hunch and he wants to run far, far away. He can’t, though, because he doesn’t know where he is. 

Also, Sabretooth is sitting on his lap. Erik’s voice softens, and he says, quite gently;  
“Charles. You do remember that _my_ car hit _you_? The whole thing was my fault, not yours.”  
“Yes, but-“ He can’t think of an argument, but Charles is sure there is one, somewhere.  
“And I think your painkillers might be kicking in a bit. You’re not thinking straight.” 

Ah. Yes. That would explain a lot, Charles thinks. He’s normally better at this. Erik swings Charles’ feet up onto the couch. Startled, Charles lets Erik arrange him to his satisfaction. It’s Erik’s couch, after all. It’s very comfortable, he tells Erik. Erik’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at this. Erik has lovely eyes, Charles thinks. The cats promptly colonise Charles’ knees and stomach for sleeping places as soon as he is even vaguely horizontal. Charles breathes in and bends his knees for them automatically.

Erik settles himself in an armchair, and flicks on the TV. He searches through several channels before settling on a soap opera. Charles doesn’t quite follow the storyline; it’s been ages since he sold his TV, and he never used it much, anyway. But it takes away the unnerving need to make polite conversation while he’s high on codeine, or whatever. 

Charles feels fuzzily comfortable; fed and surrounded by cats.  
“If this is a kidnapping, I really don’t think I mind all that much.” Charles observes in the first ad break. Erik flicks a glance at him, surprised. Charles smiles at him. He's really very kind.  
“Only the best of kidnappings for you, my friend.” Erik grins. Charles giggles, and yawns.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurt comforst! Aaaaaaaaaaaall the hurt comfort!! Plus, ERik's ultimate weapon. No, not that one.

Charles is asleep. It's taken himm slightly less than ten minutes. Erik drapes an afghan over the man and the cats (who seem quite used to this, simply shifting around in the blanket until they are comfortable again). Charles doesn’t stir. His head tips to one side, and he breathes softly, not quite snoring. 

Kidnapping. He thought someone else taking care of him meant _kidnapping._ Erik shakes his head. Still. He got Charles to eat and take his pills, without too much angst, so Erik is counting this one as a win. And later today, he’s bringing out the big guns in the caretaking stakes. It’s a coincidence, this timing of his two visitors, but a handy one.

Erik is definitely not watching Charles sleep, (because that is only cute in the kind of stories Erik Does Not Read) when the doorbell goes. Charles is so sunk in sleep, he only shifts slightly, and mutters incomprehensibly. Erik leaps to his feet, suppressing a curse, because he knows who’s at the door. She’s done it again. He _told_ her she’d be picked up, but no, she makes her own way- He yanks open the door. His mother, that tall and striking woman, is here. Things will be alright now. Edie Lensherr is here. Despite Erik being a grown man for some time now, and running a large company, he can’t help breathing a sigh of relief.

Edie has been known to fly across countries to provide chicken soup, or ice cream, or a shoulder to cry on. Random police officers have been forced to consume fruit; hairdressers have been give sandwiches. Edie likes to give her waitresses huge tips and also expensive orthopaedic shoes she “just happens” to have with her. By housing Charles, in his time of injury, Erik realises, he will have given his mother something she really enjoys; a project. Project Charles Xavier. His mother will simply revel in feeding him up, and making sure he rests, and so on. Something tells Erik that Charles needs this; and it will be easier if there’s more than one person willing to care for him properly. And his cats.

 _“Mutti_ , I keep telling you, Victor is my driver. He’s happy to pick you up, from the airport, and even if he isn’t, it’s his job.” Erik says. He walks into her embrace, lifting her off her feet and into the house. Edie bats his statement away with one hand, as Erik picks up her luggage.  
“Oh, nonsense. The bus for the airport is fine; you know how much Victor hates loud noises. Airports are very loud, son.” She pinches his chin, angling his face for a long moment of scrutiny. “Let me look at you.” Her eyes narrow. Erik bears her examination patiently; it’s the only way to speed it along. She always does this; both to Erik and all his minions friends. Everyone who knows Edie is used to it, and submits to her superior will sooner or later. It’s probably a rule of the universe.

“So. Healthy enough.” She says, after a long pause. Erik breathes another relieved sigh. Edie measures everyone she comes into contact with by an arcane and secret set of evaluatory signifiers. “Healthy” is a good judgement. It means his mother is not immediately worried about Erik’s well being, physically or otherwise. That means more of her laser-strength caring will focus on Charles, and/or the rest of Erik’s friends. Edie is the only person Erik knows who once sent her _carer_ to bed because the nurse in question wasn’t well. The nurse resisted, but Edie is a terrible force of nature, and none can gainsay her. 

“Tea?” Erik offers, hopefully.  
“I have sachertorte. The _echt, deutsche,_ sacher torte*.” His mother says, thoughtfully. Erik swallows. His favourite. Of course it would be. Then he puts the kettle on, and goes in search of the teapot. His mother sits at the table, kicks off her shoes, and smiles.  
“What has been happening in your life you have not told your old mother yet?”

“Well…” Erik begins.

\---------------------------------------------

Charles is dreaming. He sort of knows this, because Kurt is long since dead, and Cain is… elsewhere. But they’re still dragging him between them, marching him out of the house into the grounds. Charles tries to struggle, but his limbs refuse to obey him. Kurt’s grip is so tight, his arm is hurting.

“Charles?”

 _Time to grow up,_ Kurt says. He smiles the empty smile that means he’s looking for someone to hurt, and Charles is _right there._  
“I don’t, I don’t want to do this again, Kurt.” Charles pleads. “I don’t-” Kurt’s grip tightens still further, and Charles whimpers in pain.

“Charles!”

The bushes are trying to help him, clutching and dragging him back, but Kurt and Cain are relentless. They force him onwards. The swimming pool glints through the trees, ahead.   
_The pool needs checking,_ says Cain, grinning. _In you go!_   
Charles doesn’t want to see this. Doesn’t want to know, to remember this.  
“Please-“

“Charles. Time to wake up, _liebling._ ” Someone says, gently. The dream dissolves, washed away by her voice. That’s a new voice, a new person. Charles opens his eyes. A strange woman is looking down at him, concern in her eyes. She looks so like Erik, laughter lines and cheekbones and all, that Charles knows who she is almost instantly.  
“M-mrs Lensherr?” he falters, still half caught up in the dream. Her lips tighten slightly.  
“Edie, darling. I’m Edie.” She says, gently. Edie glances over, and Erik’s face slides into view. Erik looks… serious. Almost worried. Charles wonder’s what’s gone wrong.

Charles blinks, slowly. This is Erik’s mother. He’d better be on his best behaviour, make sure he- She moves to slide an arm behind Charles’ back, and helps him upright as she continues. “Yes, I’m Erik’s mother.” She gives his shoulders a quick squeeze, stunning Charles with her affection, before folding her legs up and sitting next to him.  
“Charles, do you drink tea?” Erik says, awkwardly. “I don’t want to assume-” Ah. Charles’ accent strikes again. _Snotty little limey know it all_ , Cain, whispers viciously, in his mind’s ear. Charles dismisses the memory. Cain is the past, which is over and done with.

“I love tea.” He says, brightly. He does, too. He doesn’t often get it, most of the USA not truly understanding the glory of good tea, and it being expensive, to boot, but the occasional quality teabag that comes his way is usually pounced on immediately. Erik brings in the teapot, just then, and Charles thinks he might be in love. He spots the strainer, and yes, this is definitely love. Teapot love.  
“Loose leaf tea!” he exclaims, delightedly, and Edie smiles.  
“I have trained my son in the art of proper tea.” She explains. “It goes with the proper cake.”

“Cake?” Charles mumbles, slightly blankly.  
“Sachertorte.” Erik explains. Edie points her finger at Charles.   
“You are having some, young man. You are far too thin.” Charles blushes, but he’s not going to risk saying anything that might cost him real sacher torte. Edie pours out tea. Charles blinks again, and tries to get his mind to catch up as Edie starts talking about her journey. Erik grins to himself, satisfied, as he watches his mother take charge of the Care and Feeding of Charles Project. Her next few days will be safely occupied. Erik cuts himself another slice of torte, before it’s all gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, the author knows sachertorte comes from Vienna, and Vienna’s located in Austria. Edie knows that as well. That is not the _point._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edie is an unstopable force of nature. Everybody loves Charles. Not like _that._

The television is showing some god-awful tear jerker allegedly based on a true story, and Charles has fallen asleep again, with his head resting next to Erik’s thighs, in protest. The cats are lurking, Wolverine in Erik’s armchair, which is why Erik is on the couch with Charles, and Sabretooth is perched on the coffee table, pretending to be limbless.

Edie walks in, quietly, back from her shopping trip with Emma. She moves Charles’s legs; sitting down next to Erik so Charles is sprawled between them, feet on Edie’s lap, and head against Erik’s leg. Charles has recently taken his painkillers, and doesn’t wake. He mumbles a bit, but settles quietly enough. Edie shifts the afghan over Charles again. Charles is often cold. Erik has put it down to years of poor nourishment and living without working air conditioning or heating of any sort far too often. Edie has already knitted him a pair of socks, which Charles stared at with such puzzled delight, Erik wanted to punch someone.

“Good time shopping?” Erik asks, quietly. His mother smiles, and ruffles his hair. Erik tilts his head into her touch.  
“Yes, thank you. I’ll show you later. Emma is a lovely girl.” Edie is the only person, Erik thinks, who could honestly say that about Emma. Most people would use “Ruthless.” Or “implacable”, or “terrifying.”  
He says as much, and Edie shakes her finger at him.   
“Are these the manners your father and I taught you?”  
“Yes.” Erik says, blandly, and Edie laughs. Charles jerks, disturbed, and Erik pets his hair till he settles down again.

“I haven’t seen you kiss him, yet. Are you both very discreet, or are you having second thoughts?” Erik glances hurriedly at Charles, but he’s still asleep. Fortunately.  
 _“Mutti!”_ He protests. She grins, wickedly.  
“No. no, it’s just… we only really met twice before Vic hit him, and I put my foot in it. I don’t want to scare him off. I think... Charles finds people liking him scary.”

“But you _want_ to kiss him?” his mother persists. Erik would squirm, but he doesn’t want Charles to wake up. This is awkward in the extreme.  
“I think I’d like to find out if he would enjoy it, yes.” He says, slowly.   
“You had better be prepared for more than that.” Edie says. “He has a good heart. Break it, and…” She thinks. “I will be disappointed in you.” One of her more severe threats, that one. Erik flinches.  
“But…” he starts, and trails off.

“But?”  
“He’s so… starved.” Erik stumbles.  
“Starved?” she says, intently.   
“I don’t want him to think this” he gestures around the room “Is only because I want in his pants.” His mother raises a sceptical eyebrow; Erik blushes.  
“If he didn’t want me, or was straight-” he begins, hesitantly.  
“He’s not-“ she says, helpfully.  
“ _Thank you Mutti_ , I know. If he wasn’t, I’d… I’d still want him around, want him as a friend.”   
“Good.”  
“But I don’t know if he’d want that, or understand that. He runs away.” Erik says, quietly. He shrugs.  
“Ah.” Edie’s eyes are sad, now. She understands. They’ve had conversations like this before, when Charles is actually in bed, as well as asleep. 

Charles, their lovely, bright, clever, kind Charles, does not love himself. Erik strokes the fine dark hair across Charles’s forehead, and thinks about low self esteem. Charles probably doesn’t think anyone else could love him, seeing as he doesn’t really value himself. Erik does not know how anyone could be _that_ stupid, but. It's Charles.

From the patterns of his flinches, Erik’s pretty sure someone’s hurt him physically before, as well. They’ve all worked out that Charles’s self esteem is somewhere south of his ankles. Az thinks the abuse was probably in his childhood; stating that he doubts Charles had the time or energy for dating, given that he’s said he had to drop out of college to look after a little sister, the same little sister he’s currently killing himself putting through college. Raven is a very lucky girl.

Janos, the only one of them with actual personal experience of living in abusive relationship, is not so sure. He points out that those who were not loved as children sometimes find people who don’t love them to be with as adults, because it is a familiar relationship to them. Edie reserves judgement, merely agreeing with Victor that someone needs a good punching, unless they are already dead, in which case, she will dance on the grave.  
Edie keeps fairly quiet that, apart from Erik, who put Charles to bed the first night, she’s the only person who’s seen Charles less than fully covered. 

She’d walked into the bathroom without knocking, thinking that Charles was elsewhere. Charles had not worked out how to lock the door, and she’d seen his back. Charles had curled into a damply apologetic ball, and Edie had fled before she got a second look. Edie Lensherr has seen a lot in her life. Good things and bad things both. She came to America as a child, she and her parents exchanging oppression and deprivation for prosperity and consumerism. She is no stranger to the darker sides of human nature, both there and here.

There is something about the pattern of scars she had glimpsed, however, that chills her. They were tidy, regular, as if they had been done by someone who had the time and expertise to get them all exact. There are far too many of them. They are not surgical scars, though. Edie knows that much. The scars are faded, silvery and old, so Edie suspects they were inflicted in Charles’ youth. Where were his friends, his teachers while this was happening? What were his family doing to protect him? Edie thinks few answers would satisfy her, and she cannot ask Charles himself.

Edie’s heart has been broken before, by the death of her husband, Jakob, aged forty four, from cancer. Her heart has been wrung by the destruction of Jakob’s life of work, and the bitterness that had wrought in her son. By the hundred and one little un pleasantries life inflicts on her friends and family. She has recovered enough of herself to spit in despair’s eye, and keep caring. But she suspects that knowing the truth behind Charles’ flinches, or his nightmares, the story behind his scars, of body and of soul, would break her heart again. Would break Erik’s heart again. It’s still a risk she would take, if it meant she was able to help Charles, or her son, be happy.

The tearjerker comes to an end. Erik kills the tv by remote, before the ads start being really annoying. Charles makes a small, satisfied noise and nestles down more comfortably into Erik. Wolverine leaps to sit on the arm of the couch next to Erik, and breathes on him until Erik obediently puts his hand up and starts to pet the cat properly. Edie sits back and looks at the faces of the two young men, the one intent on the cat, and the other flushed and relaxed in sleep, and she smiles. Erik smiles, too. Sabretooth hops up onto the couch and sprawls himself over Charles’ legs. Edie strokes him.

\----------------------------------

Charles thinks he may be dead. Or in a coma. It has all been so bizarrely pleasant, he cannot explain the last few days unless there is something deeply different about the reality he’s found himself in. Even the cats are better tempered. Although that might have something to do with Edie Lensherr’s feeding habits. The woman is not happy unless she has coaxed someone to consume extra nourishment at least twice a day. If Charles is full, Edie will feed the cats. Charles is not at all surprised that Erik told him he was glad to have Charles here; without Charles and his pets to focus on sometimes, Edie might be trying to feed just Erik up, instead.

Edie also apparently needs to hug everyone, or at least touch them affectionately, every time she sees them. Charles is beginning to like it, or at least, he no longer flinches when she ruffles his hair. Erik apparently becomes more like his mother the longer she’s around, so Charles now has two Lensherrs hugging and feeding him at every available moment. As if this love bombing isn’t enough; Erik’s ~~minions~~ friends appear to have been given a special memo at work to appreciate Charles’ company or something. He cannot pass without being included in the conversation, card game or audience to whatever film is being watched. Although he does have to take a vow of silence over Az’s fondness for Disney.

They are around a lot at the moment, Erik has explained, because his mother knows them all, and if they don’t turn up willingly, Edie will come and fetch them, and they don’t want that to happen again. Charles dismisses this as hyperbole, until he witnesses Edie dragging Victor Creed, the monosyllabic driver of the car that hit him, into the house by his ear. The big man is already cowed by her, and does not resist. Charles is touched by the mumbled apology he gets from Victor; apparently he’d been avoiding Erik’s house since Erik installed his accident victim in it. Charles feels bad that he was apparently responsible for this, and says so; Victor simply stares at him, before telling him he wasn’t behind the wheel, Victor was. Charles explains that he means Victor avoiding his friends, and Victor just stares at him again.

Charles falls asleep around them a lot; they don’t seem to mind. Partly it’s the painkillers and the food, of course, but partly, he suspects, it’s the bone deep exhaustion he’s been carrying since he started his second job. Both his workplaces have given him the week off, (unpaid, of course,) which is nice of them. He tries not to think about money. Everyone seems quite used to a dozy Charles in the sitting room, or kitchen, or wherever. 

Az and Janos let him get on with it, using his sleeping body as a pillow, a card table, a bookrest, or a handy surface to place the cats on without pause. Charles doesn’t mind. He sleeps with less nightmares when there are other people around. Clearly, his subconscious is shy. Once Charles wakes up, they usually let him move, unless the cats are sitting on him, but he’s used to that. Janos has fallen in love with Sabretooth. He claims the cat reminds him of Victor. Victor and Erik share Edie’s sacred quest to make Charles consume his own bodyweight daily, and wake him for food and/or medicine every three hours or so.

Hugging can apparently happen while he is asleep, as can shifting him so Charles wakes up with his head in someone’s lap more often than he is strictly comfortable with. Edie in particular seems to enjoy communing with his hair. In three days, Charles experiences more physical affection from Edie than he had received from his own mother in her entire life. Erik isn’t quite so physically demonstrative, unless Charles is awake, which is a relief to him. Charles would hate to miss out on Erik’s hugs, or his smiles, or his laughter. A few times Erik turns the tables by falling asleep on him, and Charles is touched by his trust and relaxation in Charles’s presence. 

Az takes photos. Charles refuses to allow anyone to draw on a sleeping Erik, however much Janos tells him it’s a tradition. After all, Erik must being doing the same for him, given that he never wakes up with sharpie on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the concept of the forced manicure is introduced, among other things.

Charles knew he had to leave soon. 

The suit experience had just made things clear. It was lovely, eating as much as he wanted, sleeping as much as he needed. He loved seeing the cats being fed and petted by as many people as possible. It was lovely to spend time with people who didn’t object to his face, his voice, his opinions, or his coffee making skills.

But Charles knew better than to get used to it. 

Erik felt guilty. He’d apologised for accidentally insulting Charles at the shelter; he’d been joking, he explained, awkwardly. Charles had felt such a rush of relief about that; it meant he could eat at the shelter more (although he hadn’t mentioned _that_ to Erik) and it meant Erik didn’t think he was a slacker, or a free loader. For now, anyway.

Erik had also tried to apologise for the car accident. 

Charles hadn’t really let him; that had definitely been as much Charles’ fault as Victors; He’d been half blind with exhaustion and dizzy with hunger. Charles thought he probably hadn’t been observing road safety rules as closely as he really needed to. Result: He’d already been a little unstable when the car had sent him flying.

Sooner or later, Erik would get over feeling guilty.

When that happened, Charles didn’t want to be living in his house, eating his food, or wearing his clothes. It would be too awkward. He wasn’t naïve enough to wish he and Erik- and the others- could be friends for long. He was too used to losing friends to rely on them staying around once he was back in his tiny room.

Charles would just like this to end on a high note.

He didn’t want to remember arguments. He didn’t to feel like a user, exploiting Erik’s guilt or his mother’s kind nature. Or… whatever it was that drove Miss Frost. He sighed. Charles would always rather jump than be pushed, and he felt as if the jumping off point was approaching faster and faster.

The suit was the final sign.

He’d agreed to go shopping; happy to carry bags, wait around outside dressing rooms and tell the ladies that they looked beautiful. He’d braced himself for it. And, at first, that was how it had gone. Emma had tried on nothing that was not white, apart from the things that were cream, or ivory. Edie had acquired some more wool. 

He’d relaxed, a little. 

He’d almost ignored the fact that they were in menswear, holding clothes against him to see how they looked. Charles had never expected anyone to buy him anything, and so he hadn’t thought to guard against it. A person buying him things was not a situation he knew what to do with.

Not at the prices in that store.

They couldn’t possibly be planning to spend anything on him; and the prices meant the clothes were as much out of Charles’ reach as if they were on the far side of the moon. Until they’d been approaching the till, and he’d felt a sick lurch as he saw what they were holding.

He’d managed to hold out against the suit, just.

Charles was quietly pleased with that, but the problems it took to avoid having an expensive suit bought for him, surprised him. What did he need with a suit? With his resume and (lack of) qualifications, it was highly unlikely he’d ever need it, either for an interview or for work itself. Charles wasn’t used to having things he didn’t need.

Charles wasn’t used to having things he _did_ need.

\--------------------

Erik came home to find Charles sitting on the couch, dressed in a new outfit. He was wearing snug jeans, a tailored shirt and a blue cardigan-like garment that draped itself luxuriantly over his bony frame like a cat made from purest cashmere. He looked lovely, Erik thought. A pair of comfortable and trendy looking boots sat next to his bare feet.

Also sat next to his bare feet was Erik’s lawyer. She had a number of pots, jars, and cloths by her, and as Erik stared, fascinated, he realised that Emma was giving Charles a pedicure. Judging by the array of bottles at her elbow, she hadn’t decided on the colour of the nail polish quite yet. Charles flashed him a desperate “please-rescue-me” look. Erik cleared his throat and was about to risk his life, when Edie came through from the kitchen with a bowl of soapy water. She sat on the couch next to Charles and began dipping his fingers in the warm water. Erik breathed out. That had been _close_.

“Sorry, my friend” he grinned. Charles’ woebegone face fell further. “But I’m not going to waste my life in a pointless attempt at nobility.”  
 _“Please?”_ Charles said, a little desperately.  
“Oh, hush.” Said Edie, briskly. “No one will see your toes, and I’ve already told you I’m going to use the clear varnish on your fingernails.” Erik had to bite back a grin. He dropped into the armchair, automatically raising his hands to Wolverine could curl up in his lap. The cat settled into his living throne with every air of satisfied entitlement.

“Dare I ask what brought about this terrible torment, Charles?” Charles glared at him, half heartedly, but said nothing.  
“He wouldn’t let us buy him a suit.” Emma didn’t look up for her toe nail filing.  
“You took Charles shopping?” Without me? He wanted to add, but didn’t.  
“Of course” said Edie. “That’s why he’s not wearing your clothes any more.” Erik felt a bit of a pang. He’d liked seeing Charles’s still too skinny form wrapped up in his clothes. Even if they had been stupidly large on him.

“Why not a suit?” he said, curiously.  
“Erik, that suit would have cost over seven hundred dollars.” Charles’s tone implied that seven hundred dollars was a sum almost beyond imagining. For him, it probably was- no, wait, he had a sister at college. Of course he could imagine seven hundred dollars. Just not to spend on himself, Erik thought, briefly furious.  
“Yes, and it was perfection on you!” Edie said, frustratedly. “Your eyes, your-“   
“Edie. E-emma. It’s really very generous of you, but I just couldn’t let you-“ Charles faltered.

He was beginning to look strained and pale, Erik noticed, with sharp concern. Edie glanced at Charles’s face. She sighed.  
“Charles.” Emma said briskly. “You were offered a choice. The purchase of a suit, and no manicure and pedicure, or the purchase of the outfit you are currently wearing, and a manicure and pedicure at home, rather than Edie and I walking you to the salon and not letting you out until it was done.” She took out her nail buffer.

“Yes, but-“  
“We are but simple women dear; we just like to play dress up from time to time.” Edie added helpfully. Charles choked. Erik couldn’t help but agree with him; neither his mother nor his lawyer were remotely simple. He kept petting the cat, though, anxious to avoid being drawn into this, if he could.  
“I- everything was so expensive.” Charles said. “I shouldn’t have-“  
“You didn’t, leibling. _We_ did. Thank you.” Edie soothed. She changed the angle on her nail file, moving Charles’ hand at the same time.   
“Thank you?” Charles sounded puzzled.

“For letting us play.” Said Emma, patiently. Charles’s toes, it appeared, were going to be a clear and brilliant blue, only a shade or so different from his eyes. Erik approved.  
“For giving us the pleasure of giving to you.” Edie said, opening the bottle of clear nail varnish. She tapped the little brush against the lip of the bottle.  
“But.” Charles said, and was unable to progress further. Erik decided to help him out, by explaining a little.  
“Charles, Charles. Don’t you enjoying giving your sister things?” 

The lovely Raven they had all heard so much about. Erik wanted to meet her, to see if she knew how lucky she was to have a brother like Charles. To see if she deserved him.  
“Yes, Erik, I do, but this is- I’m not-“  
“Trust me when I say, if Emma and my mother have decided on a thing, it’s going to happen.” Erik said, smoothly. “You’re to be commended for preventing them getting you three suits and several outfits. I’ve gone shopping with them before.” He shook his head, slowly. 

“It’s not an experience for the faint-hearted.” Erik said, seriously. He wasn’t teasing.   
“Just for that, young man, your toe nails are next.” Edie said, cheerfully. 

Erik had been shopping with his mother and his lawyer before, and he considered himself a man fortunate to be alive, even if he was now a man who owned more suits than he needed. Also, Erik was now a man with a wetsuit. That had been Emma. It wasn’t like he’d ever gone diving, or surfing or any other activity that required a wetsuit, but she’d said he didn’t have to. The wetsuit was necessary for reasons she refused to divulge. As was painting his toenails, it seemed. Again.

Charles said nothing further, managing a faint smile when he was allowed to put his (new, sturdy) boots back on. Erik had hoped for some support when it came to forcible pedicures, but Charles clearly was not going to tangle with Emma or Edie if Erik was not going to save him from the anguish of owning clothes that fitted him comfortably and stylishly. Well. Erik could look after himself.   
Erik was a man experienced in dealing with underhand cunning and ruthlessness, such as that displayed by Emma and his mother.   
Erik had resources, skills no one knew about. 

Erik was a man who had a bottle of nail varnish remover hidden in his bedside drawer. 

\----------------

“Charles, honey, are you sure?” Edie looked sad. Charles twisted his hands together, between his knees. He was glad he’d picked a time when no one else was around.  
“Yes.” He said firmly. “Your… Erik and everyone have been terribly kind to me, but I need to get back to work.”  
“Your arm is still in a cast.” She points out, carefully. “Won’t work be difficult for you?” Charles nods. Coffee and beer are easier to serve with two hands, it’s true.   
“I know, but they can only hold my position for me for a short time; I’ll manage.” Charles tries for bright and breezy. The look on Erik’s mother’s face tells him he has failed.

“Manage?” Edie says, calmly. Charles feels himself start to sweat.  
“I’ve coped before, It’s not the first time-“ Charles says, and then stops, too late.  
“Not the first time? Says Edie, very calmly, again. Too calmly. She remembers his nightmares, but she won’t ask questions.  
“Yes, well, anyway…” He trails off under her steady gaze. There is a pause. Charles swallows, nervously. He really doesn’t want to tell her about Kurt, and Cain, or anything like that. Edie sips her tea. Charles strokes Sabretooth’s ears, and then tries again. 

“E-edie, I really need to start earning money again. It’s been lovely, being here, it really has, but, but… I can’t lose my jobs. Not now.” It’s true. What is also true, which Charles doesn’t say, is that he’d rather leave while they still don’t mind him being around. He’d like to leave willingly, before he’s kicked out. No, they wouldn’t do that. Before he is asked to leave. While he can still smile at them and say hello, if he sees them on the street.

Not that that’s likely to happen; he never met any of them (apart form Erik) before Victor hit him, so he’s probably not going to see any of them (apart from Erik) afterwards. Charles strokes Sabretooth again. The cats have been really flourishing here; he’s horrified to think they might have been going hungry or unhappy before. Edie still looks unhappy, but somewhat resigned, so Charles allows himself to breathe out. It’s a good job he tackled her first. Charles has never seen Erik angry, and he’s frightened by how much he doesn’t want to do so now. He draws breath, carefully. He just has one favour to ask. 

It’s a bit of a risk, asking for things, In Charles’ experience.  
“Edie…” he starts, tentatively. She looks up from whatever she’s knitting, and says   
“Yes, liebling?”  
“Do you… Would it be possible, do you think Erik would mind, if I, if I…” He trails off again.  
“If you what, Charles?” Her eyes are bright, hopeful, and it’s this that gives him the courage to be brazen.  
“Do you think I could ask Erik to look after the cats? Just for a little while?” he manages to spit out, in a great rush. 

He thinks she looks a little disappointed. That’s OK. Disappointed isn’t as bad as displeased. And, awesome as Edie is, Charles is a little afraid of her. Edie seems to like Charles, enjoys feeding him and hugging him and so on, and that’s lovely, it really is. If only he could understand _why_ she enjoys it. But at least she doesn’t look angry. She looks… thoughtful? Charles waits, and allows himself to hope, just a little. The idea of Erik having the cats, for a little time, is a comforting one, for Charles. They can look after each other better then. And maybe, just maybe, Charles would be able to visit him them all. Occasionally. If Erik wasn’t too busy. They could play another game of chess, or cards, perhaps.

Edie looks thoughtful. Then her face brightens. “You know, Charles, I think that’s a really good idea. I think he’d love to.”

\------------

“Charles wants _what?_ ” sputtered Erik, furiously.  
“You to look after his cats for a short while; when he goes back to work.” Edie said, calmly. Erik stared.  
“But… He can look after them here, can’t he?” Erik is aware his voice sounds plaintive. “He doesn’t have to leave?”  
“Ach, Erik.” She draws her son into her arms for a brief hug. “His jobs, they will not hold a vacancy for him forever.” Edie is aware she is mouthing the same excuses Charles gave her. “He needs the money.” Erik makes a face. 

“I paid his hospital bills!” Clearly he likes the excuses no more than she does.  
“He doesn’t know that, remember?” she cautions him. Erik rolls his eyes.   
“He could live here. I wouldn’t charge him rent.” Erik mutters. Edie coughs. “What? He stares at her, affronted. “I like him. And it’s not like the house is too small; there’s space enough for-“  
“Erik! You know why.” She poked him, not unkindly. “He is a man. He has his pride.”   
“Humph. Not enough of it.” Erik mutters. Everyone likes Charles, except, it seems, for Charles himself. 

Charles, as the Americans would say, has issues. Issues that might actually be better worked on not living in Erik’s pocket, like a pet. Erik needs an equal, at the end of the day, someone by his side, not at his feet. Charles is a darling man, but he needs a little more backbone. Edie knows that this foolishness in going back to his old apartment and his old jobs will not help Charles’s physical health. He is better nourished and more rested, but his left arm is still broken, and his resources are still paper thin. Edie’s lips narrow, as she thinks about it. She is going to need to enlist minions, to keep Charles well fed. 

“It is not pride, Charles lacks, leibling, it is self esteem.” He nods, reluctantly. “And we’re working on it, aren’t we?”  
“Yes.” Says Erik, sounding so like the sulky little boy he used to be, she has to smile. He smiles back at her, and Edie’s breath catches, he looks so like his father, like the times that are gone. The sweetness of the little boy she raised is still in him, somewhere. To people or causes he likes, her Erik is generous and kind. And Eisenhardt is her maiden name. How many rising young businessmen name their companies after their mother? Edie shakes herself away from speculation, returning to the present with an effort.

He is still angry, so angry about so much, thanks to Shaw, she knows. It makes him careful of friends, wary of having too many people to love. The anger drove him to build Eisenhardt Inc into what it is today, but Edie still does not like it. Charles had been making such inroads into Erik’s wariness, she almost considers forcing him to stay for that alone. But that would not be fair or good for Charles, and so it would not work, in the long run. She says as much, and Erik stares at her, affronted.  
“I am not paranoid! I have a naturally high level of caution”  
“That increases when you don’t eat, yes, I know.”

Erik seriously considers snarling. He looks at his mother and reconsiders it.  
“Anyway, he’s only going back to his work; he’s not, not, emigrating, or whatever.”  
“Yes, and he wants you to keep the cats. For now.” Erik looks rueful.  
“I think that’s because I can actually afford to feed them properly. They’re like eating machines, it’s unbelievable.”   
Edie smiles. It’s true. They are.  
“Right so, Victor can give him a lift for a couple of days, and we can plan something out for later in the week…” Erik trails off into his thoughts, and Edie hides her second smile. Her son is so smitten.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has plans. In the words of a far better author than I "Oh, sweet Jesus, Erik, WHAT NOW?"  
> Discussion of past childhood traumas, also.

Erik is plotting. If Charles’s nerves or sister or life are making him run away from all of them, Erik is going to have to re-arrange things in Charles’ life a bit. The thing to do is to be subtle. That’s fine. He can do that. He knows how to be subtle.  
“The thing to do is be subtle.” He told Az and the others, in the office. Janos muffled a snort. Emma rolled her eyes.  
“And that is why you can’t pay for his sister’s education without asking.” Emma said, calmly, as she reached for the last donut.  
“Why?” Erik said, sharply.  
“One, because Rutgers won’t let you. I’ve checked.” Emma raised one finger. “Two, because Charles won’t let you.” She raised another. 

“And three, because that’s pretty close to unbelievably creepy, and no one will think you stalked her down just because you want into her brother’s bed.” Az said, cheerfully.  
“I do not just want to get into his bed!”  
“Oh?” said Az, curiously. “What other locations did you have in mind?”   
“Look, boss, I see that you like Charles.” Janos said, dismissing the others. “But it’s not going to work-“ Erik cut him off, sharply.  
“What do you mean, not going to-“

“It’s not going to work if you come in all hot and heavy like this.” Janos said, patiently. Erik calmed down.  
“Explain.”  
“We can’t be too good to him, straight off. You’re just going to fluster him and scare him away. He can’t believe anything good is permanent, we all know that.” Janos said, slowly. He rubbed his wrist, remembering.  
“He came home with me!” Erik said, a bit smugly.

“Because you hit him with a car” said Emma. Erik glared. That had been an accident, and anyway it hadn’t been him.  
“Victor-“ He protested.  
“Because he was only half conscious!” said Az, cutting him off. Janos nodded, and squared his shoulders.  
“Look, we all like Charles, alright? He knows that. But he can’t trust it. Yet.”  
“Can’t trust us?”  
“Not us personally, just us in his life. We have to be patient.” He looked at Erik, sternly. “You have to be patient. Wait for him to come to you. As you were with me.”

“What?”  
“You let me, let me set the pace.” Janos said, awkwardly. “You still do.” Az leered. Emma rubbed her forehead, delicately trying to wipe her brain clean of the images.  
“Not like that.” Janos sounded irritated. “Or not just like that. But you didn’t force me to come to social events, you didn’t just tell me to leave him, you just… kept the door open. Until I could see it for myself.”   
Janos smiled at Erik. “And you banned Jason from the office.”

_And then you got me therapy,_ he doesn’t say to Emma. _Then you took me out for coffee and let me talk and talk,_ he doesn’t say to Az. _That’s when you gave me a permanent contract, and introduced us all to Edie,_ he doesn’t say to Erik.  
“That was different, love.” Az said quickly. “You and Jason- he was hurting you and-“ Janos nodded. He knew.  
“Yes. I was in an abusive relationship with another. Charles is in an abusive relationship with himself.” There was a long, thoughtful silence.

“So, I can’t solve _this_ one by punching someone really hard, _either?_ ” Erik sounded plaintive.

\-----------------------

Charles missed his cats. It was good to be reunited with his books, but he missed his cats. And Erik’s guest room bed. And Erik’s fridge full of snacks. And Erik’s friends. And Erik. He sighed, and made sure he was smiling, as he poured the foaming milk into the cup of coffee he was making.  
“There you go, sir, thank you for-“ The customer snatched the coffee from his hand, grunted, and turned away without a word. Charles smiled to himself. Yes. Everything was back to normal. More or less.

Being a one handed barista was interesting. Some people wanted entirely inappropriate levels of medical information; some people acknowledge the arm injury, and some people didn’t even acknowledge Charles actually was another sentient being. He’d been welcomed back eagerly by his fellow coffee slingers, though. Apparently few people were as willing to work the graveyard shifts as he was. The bar was being funny abut his arm and assigning him full shifts, so he appreciated the extra hours. Raven had her scholarship and waitressing job, so all was well on that front, but Charles was painfully aware that sometime soon, the hospital bills from his visit would come dropping through his door.

Actually, Charles wasn’t sure why they hadn’t got to him already. Erik had assured him, when he brought it up, that the hospital had Charles’ address and name as part of his check in details. It was a little odd. His other memories of hospital trips had indicated that they generally stung you for the cash virtually before treating you. Edie hadn’t let him go without a boatload of food- she claimed they were left overs, but Charles doubted this- so food wise, he was doing alright. That made saving up a little easier. He had decided, as soon as he had a little cash together, to make an enquiry. The hospital would hopefully be willing to sort out a payment scheme, as long as he had a reasonable deposit.

The bell over the door jingled, and Charles looked up, to see Az and Janos walking in. He blinked. As far as he knew, the coffee house was far off their usual haunts, of an evening.  
“What can I get you, gentlemen?”  
“Charles!” Az said, grinning widely. “My dear friend! What would you recommend?”  
“Well, we have coffee, coffee, and coffee. Also coffee.” He offered, nervously. Janos laughed. Charles felt his shoulders relax. Why was he so tense?

“I would like a hot chocolate. This one-“ he poked Az- “will have a latte. Both medium. Please.”  
“Right away, sirs.” Charles turned back to his machine. Charles insisted the coffee was on the house; which pleased Az no end; Janos was also happy. Charles was delighted to be able to give instead of receiving for once, even if all he was able to give was free coffee.  
“Coffee is serious business.” Az insisted. “I am eternally grateful.”  
“As are poker nights.” Janos said.  
“Really?” Charles began to clean the gunk off the steaming wand again.  
“Yes."

“I always enjoyed playing cards, even when the cats tried to eat the counters.” Charles mused. Janos waved a hand, reassuringly.  
“This time, we’re not planning on using cheese biscuits.”  
“This time?” Charles tried to sound politely interested and not as if he was angling for an invitation. That would be rude.  
“Your next evening off is Thursday, yes?”

“Yes- how did you know that?” Az looked cryptic. “I have an enormous-“ Janos put his hand over his boyfriend’s mouth.  
“Your hours are written on the check sheet over there.”  
“Psychic power, I was going to say _psychic power_.” Az grumbled. Charles bit back a laugh. Az and Janos made a lovely couple.  
“So?” he asked, innocently.  
“The poker evening is Thursday. Come and say hello to your cats.” Az said, enticingly.  
“I hope they’re not missing me.” Charles fretted.

“Your cats are missing you. Edie is missing you.” Charles wondered if Erik was missing him.  
“Erik is not missing you.” Az said. Charles tried not to feel hurt. Something must have shown in his face, because Az went on, hastily “Erik does not miss anyone. Erik has no heart. He is stoical, iron hearted man.”  
“Who does not feel weakness.” Janos added. His eyes were dancing. Charles smiled again.  
“In that case… I would love to come. Thank you.”  
“Eating starts at seven. Cards at seven. Cats at seven.” Az said.  
“So… we should all aim to be there by seven?”

“Charles, with brain like that, you should be a professor.” Az said, cheerfully. Charles flushed.  
“I’ll be there.”

\------------------------

A tipsy Charles was a glorious thing, Erik thought. He’d thought the other man amusing whilst on strong painkillers, if a little prone to sudden bouts of narcolepsy, but drunk was better. His eyes were bright, his cheeks were flushed, and he was talking more loudly and carelessly that he ever did sober. Perhaps it was simply being invited back; as Emma and his mother had said, Charles was (still, bizarrely,) unsure of his welcome. Repeating the invite (by way of Az and Janos’s coffee hunting) had reassured him that he was wanted. Or perhaps the booze had drowned his insecurities temporarily.

In any case, it was clear that alcohol greatly increased Charles’ card playing skills. Pretty soon, he’d have the whole pot, unless someone else had a sudden run of genius. The pot in question consisted of two chocolate bars, a movie ticket, a promise to do the filing for a week; a get-out-of-jail-un manicured card, and many, many jelly beans. Charles liked jelly beans. The were sweet and uncomplicated. Unlike Erik.  
“Charles, stop eating your chips.” Erik said, laughing.  
“They’re not chips, they’re jelly beans!” Charles said, cheerfully. “I’m increasing their value on the open market.”  
“By eating them?” Az rested his chin on his hand, gazing at Charles in fascination.

“Rarity value.”  
“Uh huh. If I go down to Wall-Mart and pick up another bag, am I-“ Janos began to speculate. Charles waved a hand.  
“Diluting the value? Probably; I didn’t get that far in economics.”  
“You studied economics, Charles?” Erik asked, carefully. Charles rarely (that is, never) talked about his past, or his family, apart from Raven.  
“My single glorious term at college.” Charles laughed. There was something off in the tone, so he ate another chip- bean. See if that sweetened it at all.

They played a round. Charles won again.  
“Nice.” Az said, admiringly. Charles smirked, yes definitely smirked at him.  
“Why only one term?” Janos asked, very carefully. “You couldn’t bear the tiny minds around you?” Az looked at him, approvingly.  
“My mother died.” Charles offered, abruptly. “Raven needed me. She was only a child.”   
“I’m sorry. Losing your mother must have been hard for both of you.” Erik said, stiffly. Charles smiled, a little.  
“She. She drowned.” Charles clarified, carefully. He looked away, and took a long sip of Erik’s good whiskey.

“Drowned?” Erik didn’t know what to do. Charles was finally filling the gaps in his past; but Erik was reasonably sure Charles wouldn’t talk like this while sober. Charles rambled on, as he clumsily sorted through his cards, one handedly.  
“In our pool. She never even swam, usually. The things you forget when you’re drunk, hmmm?” Charles sighed. “She was drunk. That’s what Cain said.” Charles’s mouth twisted.   
“Cain?” Erik said, cautiously. He deliberately held himself still and calm.  
“My dear step brother. Don’t think he lives there now. Moved out when Kurt died. He saw the blank look on Erik’s face, and explained.

“Mum married Kurt when Raven was two, she died when she was ten. I was eighteen. Kurt wasn’t interested in a couple of brats he wasn’t related to, so…”  
“So you took her on. Even as a teen, you were a good man, Charles.” Erik said, warmly. Charles ducked his head, flushing.  
“Kurt took the money and the house. Raven was all I had left. I wasn’t going to lose her to foster care.” Az murmured something in Russian that sounded approving. 

Janos looked intrigued. He sucked in a deep breath, and then spoke.  
“You weren't close to your stepfamily?" CHarles shook his head, mouth twsiting. "Cain’s surname, was it the same as yours, Charles?” he asked, gently. Charles’s eyes flicked to him, surprised, but unwary.  
“Marko. Kurt and Cain Marko.” Charles tilted his glass, and seemed surprised to find it empty. He blinked, a little blearily. “Think I’d better stop. Drinking.” 

Janos handed him a glass of water, and began reshuffling the cards. Charles put his head down on the table, and wrapped his arms around himself, briefly.

 _Kurt and Cain_. _Cain Marko_. Erik recognised those names. From the looks on their faces, Az and Janos had also made the connection. Sometimes, Charles talked in his sleep. Erik recalled one particular episode very clearly. Charles had been lying slumped between Emma and Janos on the couch. Az had been watching a bad film, flinging popcorn at Erik. Erik had been leaning in the doorway, mocking them all. Then Charles, still asleep, had started talking. He’d started to beg, to plead with someone called Kurt and someone called Cain. He’d then begun to whimper. Emma had woken him, then, gently taking to him until his eyes had opened properly. Charles’s look, when he’d been woken, had been very similar to when Edie had woken him, when they first met. 

Erik had initially ascribed Charles’ bad sleeping then to pain and pills, only thinking about nightmares and the reasons behind them when he saw it happen repeatedly. Charles sat up again. He ran his fingers through his hair, rapidly.  
“Think I’d better be heading back. Too sleepy.” He said, hurriedly.  
“It’s not late.” Az said. Charles looked at him, slightly wildly. Az sighed, and shared a glance with Janos. It was clear Charles wanted to get away. Erik felt his fore head crease.

“Share a cab with me?” Janos said, quietly. “I prefer sharing to going by myself.” Charles nodded. He looked relieved.   
“Victor can drive you, if you don’t mind waiting ten minutes.” Erik offered. Janos smiled. Charles looked doubtful.   
After they had both been tucked into the car, Erik turned back to Az.   
“Cain Marko.” He breathed, venomously.  
“Yep.” Said Az. His normally open face was closed and tight. His eyes glittered.  
“Someone to look up, maybe.” Erik mused.

“Get Victor on it. And on Kurt.”  
“Charles said he was dead.” Erik pointed out.  
“Still probably got some info on whatever went down.” Az said. “I want to know what happened.”  
“So do I.” breathed Erik. “ _So do I._ ”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets a cold, and Raven arrives.
> 
> Author attempts humour, doubtless she fails.

The two men regarded each other across their chosen battlefield. The day room was half full; the epic chess matches between the two volunteers had achieved a reputation of being… entertaining. And educational. Moira permitted them one game at lunchtime, assuming they’d both put in the hours first. Erik had long since worked through his Emma-inflicted penance at the shelter; however he still came along. The project out back needed a careful eye on it, he claimed. And he liked making soup, too. (He said nothing about enjoying his time with the people there. Erik didn’t enjoy people, except for a small, highly select group. He _tolerated_ them.)

Plus it gave him a chance to spend time with Charles, on a more or less equal footing. Which was also good, seeing as the man had not yet invited anyone to see his home. Charles came to the regular poker nights, from time to time, but ever since he’d been drunk, Erik had been conscious of a slight stiffness, a caution in his manner that Erik did not like.   
“So, how is life in the office?” Charles moved a pawn as he spoke. Erik stared at the board with narrowed eyes. What devious strategy was he up to this time?  
“Going well. I have crushed the souls of yet another set of interns… we should get a few good minions out of them in time.” Erik smiled, grimly pleased. He forced down a cough. 

“And is Edie enjoying her break?”  
“She’s gone to a, a health spa. In Westchester.” Erik said, a little vaguely. He drank the last of his water to ease his dry throat. He looked at the glass, but he couldn’t really be bothered with going to get more.  
“Oh.” Charles said. He smiled, slightly strainedly. “I… Raven and I, we grew up round there.” Erik nodded, apparently politely surprised. Erik wasn’t planning on telling Charles that his mother was researching his past. “More people talk to an old lady without thinking about it, than talk to a PI, dear.” She’d said. 

Erik had to disagree about the old, but he was forced to admit, Edie had a point about the rest. If there was something that Charles needed to face about his past, Edie would find out. If there was some way of tracing Cain Marko, and possibly… talking to him about his shared childhood, Edie and Victor together would find it. Erik was pretty sure there was something to find. He did not know what, but he was hoping for buried treasure, perhaps a stolen heir, or else the chance to punch some of the people responsible for Charles’ past suffering, really hard.

Charles looked at Erik sharply as he moved his piece. He bit his lip, and then said  
“Are you quite well, my friend?” Erik bristled slightly. That was his question. He asked Charles about his health.  
“Never better. Slight sore throat, that’s all.” Erik dismissed Charles’s concerns with a wave of his hand. Charles didn’t need to know he’d had a cold for a week. He’d taken medication; and the idiot germ that had dared invade his body would soon be regretting it had ever come across one of his T cells. Erik had faith in his immune system. Like the rest of Erik, in was a finely tuned machine, and it would not let him down.

Five minutes later, Erik coughed again. 

Charles raised an eyebrow at Erik’s latest coughing bout.  
“I’m fine.” Erik said, shortly. Charles lowered his eyebrow. He smiled vaguely at someone across the room, as Erik stared at the board again. He was having some trouble with the game strategy this week. Perhaps Charles had brushed up on his chess skills. Erik looked round, startled, as someone deposited a steaming cup by his elbow.  
“Thank you, Marie.” Charles said, brightly. Catching Erik’s startled glance he explained “Lemon and honey are good for the throat.” Charles smiled. “Drink your tea.” 

Erik drank his tea. Almost at random, he moved a chess piece. Charles studied the board, intently. Erik rolled his head on his neck, and let his eyes drift shut. He’d open them again when it was his move. He waited. A cool hand touched his forehead. Erik jerked his head up. He was awake, damnit. He had merely been easing his neck, not sleeping.   
“What?” he grunted. “Have you been holding ice? Your hands are freezing.” Charles looked at him concernedly.  
“Erik, you’re sick. You should go home and drink some soup; go to bed for a little while.

“M’fine.” Erik mumbled.  
“No you’re not.” Charles’ eyes were bright, and his lips had thinned.  
“Don’t wanna.” Erik protested, to no avail. Charles had already whirled around, and was making arrangements to summon Victor. Erik coughed and then said “Tell Victor I need to go to the office.”  
“Is Edie going to be back today?” Charles asked, calmly.  
“No.” Erik said, a little sullenly. This was all wrong. He was supposed to help Charles. “This is all wrong.” He heard himself say, solemnly, to Charles. Charles’ eyes crinkled at the corners as he suppressed a smile.  
“I know, my friend, I know.” He said, reassuringly.

Erik did not know how Charles had managed to get him into the car, and the car directed to Erik’s home, despite all his orders. Clearly Victor liked Charles best.  
“Of course he does, that’s why he repaired my bicycle.” Charles said, cheerfully.  
“Did that ‘cause I was the one who broke, it, Mr Charles.”  
 _Mr_ Charles? Thought Erik, muzzily. How come Charles rated a Mr?  
“Because he’s Mr Charles, boss.” Victor said, helpfully.   
“No, you didn’t say it out loud.” Charles said, apparently divining Erik’s thoughts from his face, like a mind reader. “Your face speaks volumes, you know.”

Charles looked at Erik fondly, a faintly wistful look in his eyes. “Now. Am I going to have to go back with you to make sure you go to bed?” Erik gaped at him, cold slowed brain completely derailed. Charles. Putting him to bed.   
“Don’t make me force you.” Charles said, lightly. _What?_  
“What?” Erik said, stunned, and also trying to ignore the mental images of Charles, with his kind eyes and gentle hands, putting or keeping him in bed.   
“I’ll take that as a yes.”  
“What?” Erik said again. And coughed.

\----------------------

Raven D Xavier picks up her backpack and looks around. The bus station is crowded as ever, heaving with people and luggage rushing here, there, and everywhere. After the calm hum of the overnight greyhound she’s been riding, it’s a blast to her system. Still, it’s good to be on her way home. Charles has been keeping in touch in his usual, endearingly obsessive way, but she’s sure there’s stuff he hasn’t been telling her. How he broke his arm, for a start, and how he’s been coping with only two jobs.

Raven will die before she tells him this, but she’s been worried about him. She knows how much he’s sacrificing, to help her do what he wasn’t able to- because of her- and it’s one of the things that keeps her studying, stops her from going too wild in a first taste of freedom. Charles isn’t just her big brother, he’s the reason she’s alive, and stable, if not sane. She knows this, and it makes it hard to resent him, even when he gets his authority hat on.  
“Raven, what have you done to your hair?!” Like now.

“I cut it.” She says, swinging to face him. Raven steps back to eye her brother critically.. Even if he did have a broken arm, he didn’t look too bad. Charles looked, as ever, tired. He’d looked tired as long as she could remember. But his eyes weren’t bloodshot, and he didn’t look too thin, for once. She smiles, and he smiles back at her. Charles’ grin is brighter than ever. Maybe he’s got a decent boyfriend, or something, for once. Raven speculates hopefully to herself. As fond as Charles was of looking after other people, he was terrible at looking after himself. At least when she’d been living with him, she could nag him into eating and sleeping more. Maybe some nice guy out there had decided to do the same.

“Hug time!” She declares, and moves towards him. Charles opens his arms wide and braces himself. Because she’s now taller than he is, Raven gets the right to be the one attempting to lift the other’s feet from the floor, which she does, sling or no sling. She squeezes her brother tightly, forcing a gasp from him.  
“I like my hair, I think it’s cool,” she mutters into his ear. She hugs him again, happily.  
“I can see that. But Raven, it’s… it’s white.” Charles falters, slightly disapprovingly. “And three inches long!” He coughs. She releases him, grudgingly.

“There was a play, they wanted all the stagehands to look identical.” Raven touches her hair self consciously. She thinks it looks amazing. Really increases her mystique. “It didn’t cost anything,” she assures him, hastily. “One of the directors worked in hairdressing, and she did it for free.” Charles’s face crumples unhappily.  
“It’ll grow out, Charles, and the diner said it was ok. I just wanted to play with how I looked for a bit.”   
“Now, can we get out of here?” Raven linked her arm through her brothers. “You can shout at me for my hair choice after I’ve heard all the news.” She eyes the sling he was still wearing. “How’s your arm?”

“Oh, not too bad.” Charles reassures her, as they stroll off the concourse. “I’ve started playing chess again.”  
“Oh. Who with?” Raven demands, fascinated. Charles blushes.

\----------------

Erik is looking forwards to chess volunteering at the shelter today. Charles will definitely be there. He has seen somewhat less of Charles that he would like, this week. Charles had been busy; working double shifts (again) and preparing for the arrival for a flying visit of his sacred and beloved sister. It had been hard, dealing with this Charles-deprivation, especially as Edie had really got stuck into investigating the mystery of Charles’ background; and has barely been communicating with him. She has spent more time on the phone with Emma, who is Erik’s lawyer, than she has with her son.

But he was the one who put her up to this, Emma reminds him, with a sweet smile that conceals her deadly heart. He can hardly complain if Edie puts in extra effort; and no, Erik, she won’t tell him what Edie has discovered yet. That’s Edie’s prerogative. And then she smiles again, like a laser, and Erik knows it is time to back away quickly.  
Erik thinks Raven could bother to stay longer than two weeks; term’s finished at Rutgers, so really, her job and her studies could wait a little, surely? Charles has missed her so much, he says. He feels Charles deserves more consideration. But Charles never complains, about Raven, or anything else in his life.

Reluctantly, Erik reminds himself that keeping in work is important, and money more so; at least in the short run. Raven probably hasn’t much of a choice. She’s only what, 17? 18? At that age, it’s sometimes hard to balance out your working life with your family life. Plus, the less she’s around, the more Erik can work at getting Charles all to himself for a little while. There is nothing creepy about that, whatever Janos likes to imply with his eyebrows. Erik’s never denied that once he knows what he wants, he goes after it with his whole heart. And his teeth, and his fists, and his wallet, if need be.

Charles doesn’t; he seems to look for reasons to lie down and let the world walk all over him and complain at him. Erik doesn’t understand it; but he’s perfectly willing to deal with all of Charles’ bad habits; his neglect of his diet, his overwork, his constant toleration of exhaustion… If only he could be sure Charles would let him. As it is, Erik has to content himself with standing on the sidelines and grumbling to everyone who (a) isn’t Emma and (b) can’t get away fast enough. Az had been somewhat sarcastic about it; and the resulting conversation had not gone well for Erik at all.

“Stop distracting my secretary.” He had snapped at the second or third time Janos had giggled.  
“He is suffering with your verbal diarrhoea over you new pet project.” Az had said, grinning like a knife.  
“What? I don’t have a pet project.” Erik had said, and then wanted to slap himself. Az saw the opportunity and took shameless advantage immediately.  
“Charles? You know? Short, blue eyes, not entirely unattractive?” he had said, slowly.

“You’d better not have been looking at him.” Erik ground out. “He’s-“ and then he’d faltered. _Mine!_ He’d wanted to say. Or perhaps _vulnerable_ would have fit better.   
“I still haven’t recovered from all the coffee we had to drink tracking him down.” Janos muttered. Erik had to concede to the virtues of discretion over satisfaction.  
“Az?” he said, slowly.  
“Yes?” the devil had drawled, innocently.  
“Go distract my secretary.” Az had grinned like a larger knife.

Erik wonders if he’s ever going to meet Raven, and what she’ll be like. He pictures a female version of Charles, all big blue eyes and generous mouth, and smiles fondly to himself. Maybe she’ll be short, and adorably shaped, with sturdy shoulders and strong hands, too. Perhaps she’s gentle and sweetly caring about the whole world, too. Just like her brother.

\------------------------

Raven loves going to the shelter. Charles is happier looking after other people; and the shelter people all appreciate him properly. She’s particularly looking forwards to meeting the mysterious Erik; of whom much has been said by Charles. Charles has talked a lot about Erik, but none of it detailed enough that Raven can figure out whether he’s a nice guy like Charles deserves, or a creepy weirdo, like Charles usually attracts. He met Charles by hitting him with a car, bad. But then he took him to hospital, and installed him in his home, good. If perhaps somewhat creepy.

Still, Erik also is the reason Charles has new jeans and more friends- he’s also talked about Emma, and Az and Janos and Victor, and Edie, Erik’s mom. Raven thinks creepy people possibly don’t have an interesting in introducing their victims-to-be to their mothers very often. She’s Charles’ sister, and his only family, it’s her role to decide whether people are worthy of his affection, and drive them off if they aren’t. Charles can’t or won’t himself, and so sometimes he gets surrounded by people who just take and take and take, as if they don’t realise that Charles is a finite resource.

Of course, Raven admits to herself, she takes from him too. He’s the reason she’s got into college, both financially, paying her fees, and also keeping her nose in her books and making sure her grades and her CV and her activities looked good enough on paper for this scholarship. 

Raven tried, before she left for college, to make sure Charles ate, and slept, and didn’t kill himself from overwork. She’d have been happy living at home and going to community college, but Charles hadn’t let her. He’d said she’d been bright enough to earn the scholarship, now she had to prove it by taking it. Raven had told him she worried about him; a little, and he’d teared up. So she had. There had been weeping and bonding; it was like a TV Movie, without the inspiring soundtrack. For once, Charles had listened to her then, and she had been amazed. It’s so hard to give Charles anything, unless you make receiving something the gift he’s given you.

Mostly, though, he’s so stuck in big brother mode around her, he won’t even take her advice, which is completely free and very very easy to give. Don’t even think about Charles taking her money, or her time, or any other thing that might make his life easier. That’s not on, in Charlesworld When she comes into her inheritance, (25, she has to be. Thanks, mom. Really.) Raven is so paying Charles all the money she can. If only she can get him to accept it. She might have to resort to hiding it in his wallet again. That had been funny; he’d honestly thought he might be going crazy, for a little while.

Raven can’t repay him what she owes him- he’s family, and there’s no repaying everything he sacrificed for her- but she can damn well make sure he gets a little back. Charles deserves it. Deserves _everything._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven vs Erik... It's dramatic!

Charles wonders if he should start whistling the theme to _“The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”_ He’s never seen Raven like this, and he’s more than a little surprised at Erik, although he doesn’t know the other man as well. The pair of them are staring at each other, and have been since Charles introduced them. They’ve been making painful small talk, around the chess game- Raven, of course denied all knowledge of the game; leaving herself open to Erik’s polite surprise that the sister of someone so skilled in chess could be so different from her brother.

Raven had announced her surprise that someone so good at chess as to be able to keep up with Charles was surprised by others not being at Charles’ level. Erik had smiled, or at least bared his teeth. Raven had winked in the most cheerfully aggressive way she could. From then, it had only got worse. Charles was reminded of his cats- and really, he has to bring them home soon, he can’t let Erik keep feeding them out of his own pocket- as they pair warily circled each other, verbally parrying and thrusting without ever committing to open aggression. Wolverine and Sabretooth had been like that, when they were negotiating dominance, or food.

He doesn’t know why his sister and his… and Erik are competing so fiercely, or what they are clashing over. It’s giving Charles a headache. He hates conflict, and he’d rather hoped they’d get on. They’re both very similar. At least, to Charles’s way of thinking. “What?” Erik says. He looks as if he has been stuck in the face with a small herring.  
“What? Raven echoes him, slightly more shrilly. Too late, Charles realises his brain-to-mouth filter has failed, doubtless due to stress and chess.

“Ah. I said that aloud, didn’t I?” he murmurs.  
“I am being perfectly polite.” Raven says, indignantly. “Just because he wants to lord it over-“ She’s interrupted by Erik, and Erik very much on his dignity.  
“I have treated your sister with every possible courtesy.” Erik says, stiffly. Charles feels terrible; he wishes he’d never brought it up. Erik continues. “It’s not my fault she’s an immature-  
“Hey!” Raven snaps. “I’m not immature, You’re-“ Erik grins, smugly, and Raven sputters, losing the thread of her argument in rage. “Charles, tell him!” Erik’s smile falls off his face. Raven tries to conceal a smirk. 

Charles put his head in his hands. Why did he think this was a good idea again.? The squabbling continues. He’d just thought it might be nice for everyone to meet up and get on; his family and his, well, friends, he supposed they all were by now. Raven had always complained he didn’t have enough friends. But she seemed intent on criticising Erik until he ran away. And Erik, surprisingly for a man so kind and generous (In Charles’s experience) was being judgemental and harsh towards Charles’s sister. It was very strange and distressing.

Perhaps it was because of him? Or perhaps, thought Charles, they just needed some time alone, to sort themselves out. Actually, that’s a great idea. He stands, abruptly, cutting off their squabbling before it increases in decibels to the point of annoying others..  
“You know, I really don’t like arguing. But both of you seem to be having a good time with it, so, why don’t you both focus on that?” He waves his hands as he talks. “Erik, we’ll pick up this game some other time.” And with that, he stalks steadily out of the day room.

His sister and his Erik to stare at Charles’ back, and each other, and they can argue as much as they want. He, Charles, will go and see if they need any help in the kitchen.

“Shit.” Raven says, succinctly. Erik can only agree with her.  
“Well put.” He says. She glares at him.   
“This is your fault, you know. If you hadn’t been such a, a snot, I wouldn’t have-“  
“Wouldn’t have been such a snippy little bitch in reply?” Erik says. Raven’s face twists.  
“Hey!” she snaps. “Less of the little!” It makes Erik grin, reluctantly. She’s feisty, he’ll give her that. And he had been needling her deliberately.  
“Sorry.” He says, and he mostly means it. Which is rare, for Erik, but Raven is Charles’ sister. He doesn’t want to risk him listening to her, if she decides to be difficult.

“You will be.” Raven mutters. He raises an eyebrow. She raises both of hers right back. She starts packing the chess pieces away. Erik puts out a hand to stop her.  
“Charles said-“ He starts. She looks at him, and then says  
“He’ll remember the positions exactly, he always does.” She shrugs, a what-can-you-do gesture. Erik believes her.  
“I thought you said you don’t play chess?” he says, to start the conversation again  
“I don’t- he used to let me win when I was a kid.” Erik has to hide his smirk; she makes it sound so long ago, and she’s all of eighteen or so now. “I got tired of it; said I’d only play if he really tried. He beat me in every game we played for a year; so I stopped playing.” She shrugs again, and a faintly guilty look steals across her face.

“I didn’t mean to piss him off, I guess I’d better go find him and apologise.”  
“Didn’t you?” Erik said, trying to sound neutral, and not at all defensive.  
“I know how much he likes you-”  
“He does?” Erik tried not to sound hopeful. Judging by her smirk, he had failed.  
“Well, he writes a lot about you, anyway, and I know how much he hates it when people don’t get along.” Raven slides the box lid shut Raven paused, taking a deep breath. “So, I could have been easier to get along with, earlier.” She shifts, uneasily on her wobbly chair.

“I… could have helped with that.” Erik concedes. There is a longish pause. Erik looks at the chess board. Then Raven says, carefully.  
“Truce?” She looks hopeful. “I have his surviving baby pictures” she offers by way of a bribe. Erik puts his hand out, and she takes it and shakes it.  
“Truce.” He agrees. Baby pictures? He’d better keep Raven away from his mother. They sound likely to team up, and then not only Erik and Charles, but possibly the whole world, is doomed.

Raven doesn’t let go of his hand. He tries- gently- to pull away, and she holds on. He’s mildly surprised at the strength of her grip  
“One more thing.” She hisses, quietly, leaning over him, and standing on his foot. “I love my brother. I look out for him when he can’t look out for himself. And if you exploit him or carelessly or deliberately break his heart or make him cry, _I will end you._ ” Her eyes flash. Erik looks at her and is reminded both of Edie and of Emma. He takes that as a warning. “I understand.” He says, quietly.  
“Do you?” She sounds sceptical. Erik can’t blame her; Charles is a darling, but someone has to protect the man; he doesn’t take care of himself. 

And the world is harsh in the gentle, on the kind. Maybe Raven will accept him when she sees he’s as willing to protect Charles as she is.

“Yes. And if I find I do anything like that, you won’t be alone.”  
“Really?” Raven says, wide eyed. Erik sighs.  
“You know your brother makes friends where ever he goes. My minions” (other people might call them friends, but Erik knows better.) “would cut me in half.” He’s careful not to mention his lawyer or his mother. He really doesn’t want them joining forces.  
“He’s always finding people he likes, people to help.” She says, slowly. “If what you say is true-”  
“It is!” Erik says, irritatedly. She flicks a hand at him.

“I think this is the first time he’s found people who’d help him _back_.”

\--------------  
So, Raven thinks, later that night in bed. That was Erik Lensherr. CEO of Eisenhardt. Who’d “taken an interest” as Charles had put it, in a barista bar worker, after knocking him off his bike and then nursing him back to health.  
“Your life has become a rom-com, Charles.” She mutters to herself. Of course her brother would probably dispute the romance part of that. He’s never been able to tell when people are flirting with him or want to go to bed with him- and as for his attempts at flirting! Raven winces, just thinking about it. “Groovy” is a word that only be used to describe things with grooves in.

But luckily for Charles, he has Raven as his little sister and willing guide. And she can tell these things. Lensherr is interested. Oh, he’s so very interested, in Charles, and also getting into his pants. Ugh. She screws up her mouth, instinctively, at the combination of her brother and sex. The way Erik’s eyes followed Charles’ ass and face, while he’d been engaging in introductory verbal combat with Raven, had been a hint. As was his continued endurance of Charles’ cats, without the compensation of Charles’ constant presence- that has to be love, or something very similar.

Raven is not quite so sure about Charles’s level or type of interest in Erik. Her brother has always had a terrible tendency to light up like a startled beacon and beam at anyone who shows even a perfunctory interest in him, whether he’s attracted to their body or their mind, or both, or neither. It’s got them into difficulties before. She thinks this is a little more than that, though. Just a little. Mostly because of the amount he hasn’t been telling her; about Erik’s looks or his thoughts or his interests. Normally he’d have flooded her with TMI by now. He’s been keeping Erik under wraps in his letters and calls, apart from the bike accident thing.

Charles only does that about things he’s afraid of spoiling. Or things he thinks he doesn’t deserve. _Thanks again, Kurt. You bastard._ Raven takes a minute to hope (again) that Kurt is still putrefying in hell, and punches her pillow into submission. She lies down again. Charles deserves all the good things in life. He’s her big brother, who loves her. Actually, given how bad Sharon was at parenting small children, and picking step parents, Charles is, in some ways, Raven’s parent, too. Raven knows that, like she knows that water is wet, the sky is blue, and so on.

As a sister, though, it’s her job to test the beloved for potential flaws. That’s… well, she’s met Erik, so it’s slightly scary, but that’s still her duty. Charles had taken to it with apparent relish when she’d started dating. It’s only fair that she returns the favour now. Erik seems ok, but she’s only met him once. This means she’s going to have to get to know his friends and family better. Which means that tomorrow, she’s going to go on a shopping trip. Charles has already told of the trauma he endured; so she’s braced for nail varnish as a punitive device, among other things. Pedicures don’t frighten Raven.

This is just a getting to know you thing, or something to keep her occupied while Charles works. She doubts Emma and Edie will want to buy her anything anyway; she’s only Charles’s sister, not anything to Erik, after all. 

And then she thinks: they’re Erik’s mother and lawyer. Fuck. She is _so screwed_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves Charles: The army assembles.

Charles is dithering. He’s expecting Emma and Edie, and Raven back any minute. The little apartment is as tidy and decent as it’s ever going to be; apart from the dishes he left in the sink. Edie will want visible, physical proof that he ate a good meal, and dirty plates are the best form of evidence Charles can think of. The kettle has boiled, so it will be the work of a moment to offer tea or coffee, and really all he has to do is sit and wring his hands until they all troop up. He wants to call Erik, see if he’s had news of any disasters, but Erik and Raven’s friendship is a tenuous thing that seems to involve a lot of snarking and rudeness. So he dithers.

It’s not as if he’s actively expecting bloodshed. Raven tends not to resort to brute violence until all other avenues have been exhausted, and Charles is fairly sure Edie and Emma won’t push her that far; nor get in the first strike if they do. Raven is sneaky and swift. But considering how Raven was when she met Erik, for the first time… oh, dear. Charles has seen Raven be territorial about Charles’s attention, or affection before, but not usually when he’s working or volunteering. She’s more generous than that. She knows when he needs to concentrate.

And although Erik’s always struck Charles as a forceful man, quick tempered, this is the first time he’s remembered how they met; the mildly malicious teasing over the sea foam surprise or whatever that disgusting food was. Erik’s attitude to Raven’s mood was not kind, any more than his goading of Charles that night had been kind. This darker side of Erik leaves Charles feeling a little wary; he can’t understand why Erik hasn’t exposed him to it before. It can’t all be down to guilt over a minor car accident, can it? Erik is not sentimental; is no dreamer. He’s a businessman. Yet he’s been nothing but kindness to Charles.

Charles also isn’t sure why it doesn’t scare him as much as he thinks it should. Erik is a driven man, wealthy by his own work, and ambitious. Charles has had to deal with ambitious men before; to his own and his family’s detriment. He should be gun shy, at the very least. Wary. Suspicious, even. But, somehow, Charles knows, he knows that Erik is nothing like them, nor is he like Kurt or Cain. He’s not. Erik is…, well, not safe, precisely, but reassuring. If there’s a problem in his way, Erik will mow it down, tearing through it like a shark ploughing into a beachful of bathers. Charles has seen him do it before.

Charles had felt a little worried about Raven and Erik, before they met. He had feared that she would have one of her ridiculous and unfortunate crushes on Erik, or his one of his minions, as he calls them, and things would get awkward and uncomfortable with Erik and his people. Raven has a history of these crushes. When she was eight, she fell in love with birds, and when she was twelve she fell in love with the postman, and those were bad enough. Then she fell in love with, in rapid succession, two boy bands, a tv presenter, and also a horse. Walking her through them had been more wearing than Charles cared to remember.

At least the lack of crush meant he’d been spared the sight of Raven mooning over Erik. This was more like hate at first sight than an instant crush. Charles doesn’t understand what drove them to this immediate rivalry. Perhaps it was just a ritual exchange of shots. Raven has been out all day with Emma and Edie; three formidable personalities in a confined space. Charles shivers, at the though of the consequences, both for him and the world, and thanks the lord they didn’t demand he come along to carry luggage and baggage for them. 

\-----------------

“Emma, shall we stop for refreshments?” Edie asked, mildly. “We have seen so many things, I can’t keep them all straight in my head. And it is a good time of day for tea.” Emma looks up from her intent perusal of white shoes to nod. Raven feels a sigh of relief that she does her best to repress. She‘s feeling a little, well not tired. But ready to sit down and maybe have a coffee. Emma knows how to _shop._ They’ve been out in the fashion district for maybe two hours, and they’ve already gone through five boutiques from top to bottom and back to front. Emma’s only interested in things in white, or cream, or bone, or whatever. It looks good with her colouring, but Raven knows she’d never be able to get away with it. The woman must have super dirt repelling powers or something.

That’s not to say there haven’t been a few things Raven hasn’t longed for, in her heart of hearts. Shop number one had a blue silk dress that was practically begging to be tried on. Shop number four had had the most amazing boots known to humanity. However, given that every price tag was for more than a year’s fees, it seemed like, longing was all she’d been able to do. Still, when she won the lottery, or whatever, she is _so_ doing this again. Edie hasn’t bought anything; but she’s tried on a couple of tops and a skirt, maybe just to keep in practice or keep up with Emma, who has already had to arrange delivery of the clothes she’s bought, because Emma doesn’t do carrying bags when she’s on a mission.

The coffee and cake place they end up in so high end, it’s scary. It’s retro-chic and whimsical-shabby and probably a dozen other adjectives as well. The staff wears old style uniforms, and Raven wonders what they make, out of habit. They use deliberately mismatched china, and there are flowers painted on things, and fake faded wallpaper and all. Raven doesn’t dare order anything other than coffee. She can probably afford a coffee her. The waiter makes a face like it causes him physical pain to leave her without a cake or other foodstuffs.  
“We also have fresh fruit constructions, sugar free coulis or skinny muffins” he urges, but she remains strong. 

Emma and Edie share a glance, which Raven catches. She feels like telling them, there’s a difference between being cash poor and eating disordered, thanks, but she bites her tongue. They doubtless aren’t aware of the constraints on her purse being quite this bad. Edie orders a bunch of tasting samples, though, and enlists Raven’s help in appraising the tiny snack sized portions of deliciousness. It’s hardly a sacrifice. Emma just looks on, smiling faintly, and nibbling on her vanilla macaroon*

“Mm, these are good.” Raven mumbles. Edie makes a thoughtful face.   
“I think their petit four are good, but their brownies are too dry. Emma?” She hold out a bite to Emma, Emma accepts the tribute carefully.  
“Hmmm.” She says, slowly. “I think I prefer the cheesecake.”  
“Strawberry cheesecake reminds me of the first birthday cake Charles ever got me.”   
“Really?” Edie says. “Erik always insisted on pfeferkussen.”  
“Yeah, it was Sara Lee, or some other frozen thing- not the best. But, well, I was eight. Cake was good. Cheesecake was even better.” Raven smiles in reminiscence

“I’m sorry, I thought you were older when your mother passed.“ Edie said, puzzled.  
“Oh, no, Sharon was still around then. She was just… distracted.” By alcohol, mainly Raven doesn’t say. “Charles got his caretaking skills started early.” Edie nodded, approvingly.  
"It’s something he seems fond of,” said Emma, neutrally.  
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Raven sighed.“It’s like he never, never feels like he measures up, you know? He’s always got to be working, or helping out, or something, but no one’s allowed to help him. Ever since he dropped out of college.” 

Raven stared into her coffee, morosely. “I know that’s partly because of me.” She half expected the usual response to this- embarrassed silence or denials.  
“How so?” said Emma, cool as if Raven’s outburst was simply a possible patent infringement she wanted more info on.  
“I don’t know how much Charles has told you,” Raven started. “Dad was better at being parental than she was, and when he died… well, that’s not a good story, so...” She bit her lip, thinking. “I was just a kid when Sharon married Kurt. He’d been one of Dad’s friends; I suppose she thought he’d be a good replacement.”

Edie poured her a glass of water. Emma bit into a cookie, thoughtfully. Raven took a breath, and went on.  
“He wasn’t.” she said simply. “When she died, I was ten. He made Charles an offer; he could have me, or have the money. Charles chose me. Couldn’t go to college any more.”  
“I’m sorry, the money?” said Emma, slowly.   
“Dad was rich. Way rich.” Raven said, simply.   
“Ah. Said Emma, understanding. “Those Xaviers. I wondered.”  
“Yeah. Most of it went to Mom, and should have gone to Charles. I mean, I should get some when I turn twenty five, enough to pay Charles back for my college, if he lets me.” She paused. “That’s probably why Kurt wanted to be my guardian, but most of it was Charles’s.’” 

Emma looked thoughtful.  
“I’m not sure I understand.” Edie said, slowly. “You mean this man robbed his own stepchildren? When his wife died?”  
“Yep.” Raven said. Edie hissed something in German that did not sound complimentary.  
“Look, don’t… don’t try talking to Charles about this, will you? He hates it.” Edie held up an imperious, reassuring hand. 

“I promise.” Emma nodded her agreement to Edie’s words. Emma looked at Edie, and said something fast, in German. Edie muttered back in the same language. Raven let them get on with it. She was already regretting talking so much about family stuff. Thank god she hadn’t mentioned Cain, or the threats he’d made.  
“Well” said Emma, eventually. “Back to the fray.”  
“I don’t know how you can do it.” Raven said, wondering. “I mean, that’s a serious amount of shopping we’ve got through already.”  
“Oh, my dear, we’ve only just made a preliminary study.” Emma said, cheerfully.  
“Yes.” said Edie. “Now we get to the real shopping!” She looked gleeful.

Raven wondered if she should be worried, now.

\---------------------

Charles’ anxieties were cut short by a knocking at his door. Making a mental note to repair the doorbell as soon as he was paid this week, he went to open it. Before he got there, Emma Frost swept into his humble abode, followed by Edie and his sister. Well. Someone closely resembling his sister in most ways. Apart from one.  
“What have you done to your hair?” he found himself asking. Raven glared at him.   
“I didn’t do anything to my hair.” She plopped herself down on the couch, firmly. Edie sat next to her.   
“It’s… it’s red.” Charles said, fascinated. Edie smirked. Raven pouted. “And.. how is it longer, already?”

“Hair extensions, of course.” said Emma, as she seated herself on the only other chair in the room. “I know a marvellous place; and red’s a far better statement than white, for you.” There was a brief pause while everyone tried to absorb the strangeness of Emma admitting that white was not always the best colour for a job.  
“But….” Charles wasn’t too clear on women’s hairdressers, but he was fairly sure they were expensive.  
“Look, it’s not like I had a choice.” Raven said, sulkily.  
“That dress would have been perfect on you.” said Edie, sadly. Raven sat up and stared at her.

“Yes, it would have been. But I wasn’t spending $1500 dollars on a dress I was never going to have anything to go to in.” Charles blinked. Ah. He had warned Raven about the risks she was taking, going shopping with Edie and Emma. “And you wouldn’t let me write you an IOU for when I was twenty five, so.” Raven concluded, throwing her hands up  
“I’m not in the business of collecting IOUS, my dear.” Edie said, patting Raven’s shoulder.  
“And I tend not to deal in monetary ones.” Emma said, blandly. There was a brief pause.  
“Tea?” said Charles, hopefully. He went over to the stove and started a burner going, before making a trip to the sink with the pan. No one commented on the absence of a kettle. Edie’s eyes did narrow, but she seemed only to be inspecting the plates by the sink. Charles relaxed, slightly. He had eaten properly this evening, well, properly in Edie’s eyes, anyway. He still wasn’t sure what she had against ramen.

“Did you have a good day, Charles?” Edie asked, breaking the silence.  
“Yes, it was great. The coffee flowed freely, and when we split the tips jar, we found someone had put a fifty dollar bill in it. Again.” Charles said, casually. Neither Emma nor Edie flinch, so he considers that this, the third time in as many days the tip jar has had folding money in, may be coincidence. However, as he looks at Emma’s calm face, and Edie’s happy one, Charles wouldn’t put it past them to actually use someone as a mystery customer/tipper.

He doesn’t think Erik would, Erik would just march in there and stuff the money in himself, maybe glaring at whoever was unlucky enough to have to serve. That was, if Erik ever went to the coffee shop. Charles has never seen him there; although Victor and his brother come from time to time, and so does Janos.

\-------------------------------------

Tea drunk, the two women were happy to go on their way, leaving the Xavier siblings to recover. Wordlessly they gazed at each other, before Raven crumpled and said  
“Ok, ok, you warned me and I didn’t believe you!” Charles smiled in satisfaction.   
“I’m impressed you held out to the point of hairdressing, though.  
“It was a really nice dress.” She settles down on the couch again, and he sits next to her.  
“I know.” Charles puts an arm round her. It’s hard, never having money for lovely things, sometimes.

“I wanted it so bad.” She confesses. “But that just made me more stubborn. I tried to give them an IOU for when my trust comes in, but no dice. Just like you.”  
“Your trust isn’t limitless.” Charles said, warningly. “Great Aunt Betty didn’t have limitless wealth.”  
“She still could have left some to you.” Raven grumps.  
“When she wrote the will, she thought I’d get the major share of the Xavier estates, still. She was being fair.” Charles says steadily.

“I still don’t see why you can’t use it for my college fees and things.” Raven said, quietly. “I hate owing you so much, Charles.” He tightened his arm around her in a quick hug  
“You don’t owe me anything; Raven, you know that.” She sighs. “We’re family, we don’t owe each other anything.”  
“I don’t understand why they left my trust alone and went after yours.” Raven says. She doesn’t have to say who they are. Charles tenses. This is getting closer to things he can’t tell her. Can’t tell anyone, ever. Kurt may be dead, but Cain is still out there. Charles feels another wave of guilt, and tries to hide it.

“Mine was bigger.” He says, mock-cheerfully. Raven thumps him. “More importantly, yours was from a totally different will; mine was all Dad’s and Sh-“ He breaks off. “And Mom’s, too.” He breathes in. Careful. He has to be careful. They didn’t just threaten his life, after all.  
“Why did you say yes?” Charles blinks.  
“What?” he says, puzzled. Raven carries on, either ignoring or unaware of his rising alarm  
“Well, you said that Kurt made you choose between me and the money; why’d you-“  
“Raven you’re my sister, of course I chose-“ Charles interrupts, hastily. Raven persists.

“Yes, but with the money, you could have, I don’t know, bought a lawyer or two. Disputed custody with Kurt and gone to college. Hell, you could have trained as a lawyer and come back for me.” She says, calmly. Charles closes his eyes, trying not to remember Raven’s face after their mother had died, the blank terror that he’d go next and she’d be alone.  
“That was never an option.” He says, low and fierce. “Never. Do you hear me?” She turns her head to stare at him.  
“You’re a good man, Charles Xavier” she says, trying for lightness. He wriggles in protest.  
“A good big brother.” He says, also trying for lightness.  
“A good man.” She insists.

Later, after she’s gone to bed and Charles has folded himself up on their tiny couch again, Raven gets out her new cell phone and texts a couple of messages to Emma and Edie. The first reads simply.

THOUGHT ABOUT IT. IM IN.

The second contains a date and a time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ploys, plots and plans, and suddenly, violence.

Erik stares at his mother. She sits calmly on his couch, sipping her tea, entirely unaware of the bombshell she has just detonated. Erik blinks, gapes, and finally finds his voice. The cats look up at the tone, and then depart out of the living room for safer quarters.  
“You mean Charles is _rich_? He _grew up_ rich?”  
“His family was, yes, dear.”

“How rich?” Erik says, slowly. An unpleasant sensation is twisting in his gut.   
“Very rich. Alte, old money. From his father.” Edie says, happily, unaware of Erik’s rising alarm. “His family lawyers, they are also based in Westchester-“  
“That’s where he said he grew up.” Erik says. Edie nods.  
“Why?” Erik says, more to the empty air than to his mother or his lawyer.  
“Why what, liebe?” Edie asks, puzzedly.  
“Why did he lie to me, I mean us? About being poor?” A thread of anger is creeping into Erik’s voice, however much he tries to hide it.

“When did he lie, Erik?” Edie says, gently. She puts a hand on his arm. Erik tenses further.  
“You said he was rich. Look at how he lives. People who aren’t poor don’t work themselves to death keeping a sister in college.” Erik wants to howl, in grief or rage, he’s not sure. How could Charles have deceived him? What can he offer Charles now that he doesn’t already have?  
“Ah, nein.” Edie says, soothingly. She smiles.  
Briefly Erik is horribly sure he said the last part aloud, and then Edie continues, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“No, Erik, that wasn’t a lie.” Erik exhales in relief. Charles hadn’t lied to him. Had he?  
“What, then?” He really wants to get to the bottom of this.  
“Charles has no money now.” Edie says, sadly. “There are legal things; Emma can explain them better.” Erik transfers his focus to Emma, who has sat placidly drinking green tea, allowing Erik to get worked up over things he doesn’t understand.  
“The Xavier money was mostly left in a series of trusts; for the mother to administer when Brian Xavier died.” 

Emma starts smoothly enough, with family history, as if she was giving a report at work. Erik wants to bat the details aside. He’s not interested in Charles’s father’s money, only Charles. And possibly Raven, given that her happiness matters to Charles, and Charles’ happiness matters to Erik.  
“She’s dead. He still has the nightmares. So why isn’t it Charles’ now?” he demands. “Sharon married again. One Kurt Marko, who had one son already. Cain.” Emma frowns.  
She doesn’t say more for a moment. Erik fights back a snarl; He’s heard those names from Charles own lips, during nightmares.

Emma nods at what he does not need to say, and continues.  
“Sharon Xavier-Marko drowned in her own swimming pool, when Charles was seventeen, and Raven ten.” Erik twitches. More things are becoming clear to him now.  
“That shouldn’t have altered the inheritance. Should it?” Edie says.  
“The drowning?” Erik says, bewildered. Does it matter how Charles’s mother died?  
“The second marriage.” Edie clarifies. Emma sighs.  
“Ordinarily, no. But Kurt was in control of the estate; Charles was underage.”  
“And Cain?” Erik says. He’s pretty sure he knows this already, but Edie will know for certain, after her investigations around Westchester with Victor.

“Older, the boy finished college before she died,” Edie adds. “Kurt took control of the money.” Emma nods. She looks like she wants to spit. “He took it from those two children, his wife’s family.”   
“Did he, now?” Erik says, flatly. He grits his teeth, briefly. He wishes Kurt were alive, so he could kill him for Charles. This is too much like the memory of Shaw’s dealings, for Erik to deal with well. Except that Shaw stole his connection with his father and most of the money with the company; he didn’t leave him alone and penniless, with a small sister to look after, before he’d even graduated. Erik’s admiration for Charles’s determination, for his drive to see Raven graduate, grows further.

“Kurt died nine months later. Car accident. The trusts passed to Charles and Cain equally.”  
“What a coincidence.” Erik comments, wryly.  
“A pity it did not happen sooner.” Edie snaps. Marko was a doctor of some sort. She has seen the scars on Charles’ back, their medical quality. Erik gapes at her, startled. Edie doesn’t explain. Some secrets mothers know how to keep.  
“But if Charles has control of the trusts with his step brother-“ Erik begins.  
“Yes. Why hasn’t he any of the money now?” Emma asks. Erik frowns. “He hasn’t. I’ve checked, Victor’s checked.”  
“Perhaps you can ask him, liebe?” Edie suggests, a small smile curving her lips.

“Me? Why me?” Erik says, plaintively.  
“You’re the force behind this great investigation, anyway. Shouldn’t you be willing to help?” Emma says, helpfully  
“Charles talks more to you than to any one else, leibe.” Edie says. Erik preens himself, just a little. Charles does seem easier in his presence, it’s true.  
"Also at some point, your disturbing focus on this man’s past and this slightly socially inept dancing around must end.” Emma contributes. Erik deflates. He doesn’t even know if Charles really loves him. Likes spending time with him, yes, but that doesn’t mean love. He’s not admitting that out loud, though.

“Of course, he loves you, which will help.” His mother says, thoughtfully. Erik twitches again. His mother’s mind reading powers are unsettling.  
“Help?” he says, nervously.  
“Dear one. Most people do not send their mothers to investigate their loved one’s past. Most people just _ask._ Charles… may ” This is true. But Erik knows the flaw in doing what most people do, in this case.  
“He might not have said anything! Or asked me to leave it alone.” He says, slightly defensively. Only slightly.

“And God forbid you respect someone doing that.” Emma says.  
“Not when I can _help_. him” Erik retorts. Emma snorts.

“Well. There comes a time when you can’t keep helping someone in secret. They have to know, leibling.” Edie put an arm around her son. Erik stared at his hands. This meant that he missed the glances Emma and Edie shared over his head.  
“And you think that time is now?” he said, quietly.  
“Soon, anyway. We need to get it started.”  
“Get what started?” Erik said, sharply.  
“Ah.” Emma said. “I’m glad you asked.”

\-----------------

Charles has applied, with Janos’s help, for a couple of entry level office jobs, which could be the start of something better still. Hearing that Charles was thinking of going for them, Janos had looked over his resume, clicked his tongue, then rewrote it so “it mentions the skills you actually have, were you trying to stay in the bar scene?” Charles had flushed, embarrassed, on reading what he’d written, but he was forced to admit that Janos- who saw hundreds of resumes a year- knew how to make him sound not only employable, but attractively and memorably so. Janos hadn’t even lied about any of it.

He may also have done something with a phone call to another PA or secretary; but Janos swears blind it won’t result in more than Charles’s application actually being read by the HR people; only Charles’ record will get him an interview; and only Charles’ skills will get him the job. He’d been smiling when he said it, even if Azazel had rolled his eyes.  
“Two virtuous businessmen, in New York? How is this possible? The world must end.” He’d said, wryly. Charles had been too pleased by being referred to as businessman to debate the possible cynicism or inaccuracy in Az’s comment. Charles did not think he was particularly virtuous.

Erik had been all for Charles leaving both bar and coffee shop. Charles had been terribly afraid Erik would offer him a job at Eisenhardt, which he’d not have been able refuse, not really. Erik would not have understood that becoming his employee, being given a job as a favour, was not something Charles would have been able to do and remain his friend. Erik had apparently only thought of, offering him one of Janos’s suits for the interview. Janos hadn’t minded. Apparently his job came with a clothing allowance, and he was contractually obliged to change his suits every three years. Edie said it would be the work of a moment to adapt a suit to fit Charles.

Raven is out, catching up with some of her friends, and Erik has a business… thing on that Emma will not let him out of attending. Edie has pleaded a need for an early night- she dropped in to the coffee shop earlier with some “left over” lasagne; but can’t stay around to help Charles eat it, for once. The lift has given out, but wheeling his bicycle up so many floors no longer exhausts him as it used to. He must be getting fitter, he thinks. Before he broke his arm, such an effort would have dazed him and sent him staggering into his apartment dripping sweat and gasping. Lasagne pan in one hand, Charles hums happily to himself as he hops up the last stairs to his apartment.

Either his bike or the foods distract him, and he doesn’t see the lurker in the stairwell until it’s too late. The attacker slams himself into Charles’ spine while he fumbles with his front door. The door bangs open, and Charles falls into the room beyond, dizzy and gasping with the pain in his back from the blow. Dazed, Charles reels into the arm of the couch, and cries out as he falls, catching himself against it with his hands. The attacker drags in the abandoned bike and kicks the door shut.  
“Hi ya, Charlie.” Charles freezes, and spins, horrified. He knows that voice.

Casually leaning back against Charles’ door, all affable threat, is someone Charles never wanted to see again. He grins, cold and deadly, and nowhere near as attractively as Erik.  
“Been awhile, hasn’t it?” Cain Marko says, and takes his fists out of his pockets.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets revealed, and burning hearts made whole.
> 
> Also, my inner tax expert is weeping now. Weeping, I tell you!

Cain, like his father, always did prefer to talk with his fists, Charles thinks, painfully, sometime later. He’d been better at enduring it, once. He touches his face and hisses in pain; that’s one black eye at least. The ache in his ribs tells him Cain must have kicked him when he fell the second time, too. Cain didn’t get off unscathed though; Charles no longer had the inhibitions that had so hampered him as a child. He’d dodged the first blow Cain threw at him, and had actually punched him back; successfully. Later in the brief and confused scuffle, Charles had landed an almost accidental kick to Cain’s knee that had made the big lug howl. Wearily, Charles goes in search of his first aid kit, and an old, wet, towel. At least nothing is broken, this time. He dabs his bruises with arnica, mops blood up with the towel, and is grateful Cain chose not to resurface until after the cast had come off his arm. 

Briefly, he wonders why Raven has bought Princess Barbie band aids.

Az’s demonstrations of physical affection- otherwise known as leaping out at Charles and demanding he learn to hit back- had helped with Charles’s self defence. Now, Charles’s instinctive response to violence is more than simply freezing and waiting for it too be over. It had certainly startled Cain; he’d stared in disbelief, before lunging.

“Looks like someone’s been taking lessons. That all that’s changed? You been sniffing around, Charlie? Got a sudden curiosity about the past, kinda thing?” he’d growled, dangling Charles by his neck.  
“N-no!” Charles had wheezed past the fingers at his throat, too busy trying to breathe to wonder.  
“Someone has.” Cain had snarled, ugly face an inch from Charles’s. His breath reeked of alcohol. “I got people. I got a tip off. There’s been a lot of interest in the past suddenly.”  
“I don’t know anything about it!”  
“Yeah? You haven’t been chasing up wills, ain’t been looking at the trusts?”   
“No!” He’d shaken Charles, like a dog with a rat, until Charles dug his finger nails into Cain’s wrist, to make him let go.

Now, Charles wonders why Cain bothered. Usually, he has a whole speech about things, a reminder of what Charles owes him, in terms of keeping his mouth shut and staying out of his way. He didn’t even bother to sneer, this time. Just barged in, beat Charles, and told him to leave it alone. And he’d looked worried, when he talked about “people asking questions.” Very strange. Distantly, Charles feels himself start to shiver. He fumbles for his phone. No point in calling the police. Erik’s busy. He doesn’t want to frighten Raven. Edie isn’t frightened by anything, not even Emma. Charles knows she’s around. He hopes she won’t mind him calling this late, but he’s in pain, and a friendly voice will help.

“Ja? ” He sniffs as her voice, warm, accented, flows out of the phone.  
“E-edie?” Charles falters. He tries to stop his teeth chattering.  
“Charles?”   
“I-I”  
““Charles? What is it?” Edie sounds worried, now. Charles blinks against the stinging in his eyes, and tells her.

 

Edie doesn’t allow Charles to stay on his own; she sends Victor right over, in his car. She sends Raven a text to alert her about Cain’s presence. Raven texts back anxiously, but Edie manages to reassure her that her night out doesn’t need interrupting. Charles is safe; and Raven can come and stay either with him or with Emma, in case Cain is still lurking about the place. Victor’s lips tighten when he sees Charles’s face, but he doesn’t say anything about the bruises; only waits for Charles to put some things together and water his plants. Then he drives Charles back to Erik’s, almost completely calmly, apart from the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel.

Victor doesn’t ask Charles anything on the drive over; he talks about football scores and the weather, and the antics of his cats. Charles listens, and is very grateful he doesn’t have to think. Edie takes one look at him, says something she will not translate, and hurries him into the kitchen, where she makes him hot tea and offers him some cake. He can’t eat it. His hands are shaking; he can barely manage to hold the teacup. He doesn’t understand why he’s behaving like this. He says so, bewildered.  
“You’re in shock, leibe. That brute, he hurt you.” She is angry, Charles can tell, but there is something else there as well, an emotion he can’t quite interpret. Odd.

“Yes, but I was never like this before.” Charles says, realising, too late, that he may have revealed too much as Edie’s face goes stormy. She traces the bruise on his face, gently. He realises he’s leaning towards her unconsciously, and tries to straighten up; she’s not his mother. He shouldn’t forget that.  
“Before, liebling? He’s done this to you before?” Edie moves her chair back, and he tries to repress a regretful pang. Then Edie stands, and he wanders after her as she walks into the living room. She sits on the couch.  
“Well, not quite like this, but, you know, he ah…” Charles moves to sit in the chair, but Sabretooth glares at him.  
“Charles.” She says, gently.

Edie looks at him; and he follows her silent order, sitting on the couch cautiously.  
“He never liked me. I knew that. Even as a boy.” He starts, sighing “And he’s not the sort to just deal in icy politeness, he’s always communicated best with his fists.” Like his father, he doesn’t say. Edie nods. She wraps an arm around him, and leans back, pulling Charles along. Charles sighs, and leans against her. Edie is very good at being comforting, he thinks. It’s nice.  
“I just don’t understand why he’s turned up again.” Edie hums, in agreement. “Or why he’s suddenly worried about people investigating.”   
“Investigating, Leibe?”

“He kept, um, while we were talking, while he was…” Charles feels Edie begin to tense, and he hurries onwards, not wanting to upset her. “I mean, I never have said anything about it! Why is he suddenly worried about people looking at the administration of the Trusts now?”  
“Ah, no.” Edie breathes sadly. “That is, what Trusts, Charles?”   
"The, um, the family trusts and estates. Cain administers them all. Except for Raven’s, he didn’t- doesn’t know about that one. Great Aunt was a sharp old thing.” He falters. Next to him, Edie is very still. Perhaps she’s thinking.  
“But, I don’t think he is administering them fairly, Charles.” She says, at last, thoughtfully.

“I, well, no. He isn’t.” There. That was a safe enough admission, as it was not only the truth, but also completely obvious to anyone with half a brain. Charles realised, as Edie cleared her throat, that she might want further explanations as to why the Xaviers were so short of money, if a legal battle might have changed things. _Oh no._  
“We were both still children. I, well, lawyers are expensive, and, and…” He trailed off.  
“And Cain is so very violent.” Edie says, kindly. Charles feels terrible. Even though it’s true. He loosens his shirt collar with one finger. He’s sweating.  
“Yes.” He admits, somewhat feebly. It’s not enough, he knows it’s not enough, but still… He hopes.

“But, Charles, you are older now. As is your sister. Are you still afraid? You have friends, now, we could-“ _Oh God, no. No._ He interrupts her, hastily, almost rudely.  
“Yes, I’m still afraid. I don’t care if it makes me a coward, makes you think less of me-” Edie interrupts him right back, hugging him fiercely. His ribs ache.  
“I would never think less of your for looking after your sister, but Charles-“  
“I can’t. Please, you don’t understand, I _can’t_ fight this.” Charles feels a wave of guilt and nausea at the thought of explaining things to Edie. The hold Cain had over him wasn’t something he would ever want to speak aloud. Not just to Edie, to anyone. Some sins could never be confessed. He swallowed, dryly.

Edie sat up straight. “You fight your hunger, your weariness, you fight for your sister, for the homeless. You can fight. I see it in you, Charles, I see you fight every day.” Charles felt his jaw drop as she proclaimed. His eyes began to fill. “What is it that means you cannot fight this? Do you hate the money?” Charles blinked, rapidly. “That’s, that’s very kind of you. No, it’s not that.” How amazing someone could recognise his daily struggle to keep going and decide it was part of some noble war. Or think he was a principled man. He blinked again.  
“Then what, Charles?” Edie said, quietly. Charles swallowed.

“I.. Cain,, it’s, he _knows._ ” There was a silence. Edie squeezed him again, and Charles closed his eyes, listening to the rush of blood in his ears, savouring the closeness. If he told her- and on some level, he acknowledged to himself, he’d already decided he was going to- it was probably the last hug, the last piece of affection he would ever get from her.  
“You can’t tell anyone.”  
“I can’t?” She said, softly  
“If I tell you. Please. Not Raven, not Erik. Please.” 

Charles drew away from Edie, hugging his knees. He stared at the floor, and fought not to cry at the knowledge of what he was about to do.  
“Are you worried about what they’ll do, or-“ Edie said, slowly. She looked away, grimacing.  
“Please!” he insisted again, rather wildly. There was a pause, and then she nodded, slowly.  
“Not Erik, not Raven. I promise.” Charles took a deep breath, and began to tell her everything.

“What Cain uses to keep control, to hold the money, is what he knows. About me. And Kurt.” Charles licked his lips. He wished he was anywhere else.  
“About you and Kurt?” Edie sounded puzzled. Soon she’d be horrified.   
“That… he died not long after my mother;” he clarified, still staring at his knees. He couldn’t bear to look up, to see the disgust and hatred he knew he deserved, from her. “It was a car accident.” Charles managed to say, slowly.  
“I see…” Said Edie, sounding puzzled. Charles laughed, shortly.  
“It was my fault.” He managed to say. He felt numb, cold, at hearing it said aloud, finally.  
“What?” Edie gasped. It was hard to hear her. Charles nerved himself for the last part.  
“I killed him. Cain said he wouldn’t talk if he got all the money. So I helped him steal from Raven, too. I’m a thief and a murderer and-” 

“What are you _talking_ about, Charles?” Horrified, Charles looked up from his knees. That hadn’t been Edie. Someone else had been listening in, and he hadn’t heard them arrive over his own stupid thoughts. Charles turned, and saw Erik, standing, staring at them in shock, at the door. Charles wanted to vomit. Erik knew. Erik _knew._ He lurched up from the couch, suddenly desperate to get out, get away from Erik’s horror and disgust. Edie hadn’t immediately recoiled from him, but Erik was more outspoken, and Charles felt he could not bear to see rejection on Erik’s face.

“I. I’m sorry, I should have told you” he said, trying not to stagger as he attempted to find the doorway beyond Erik. Edie made a noise of distress.  
“Charles.” Erik said, urgently, stepping in front of him. Charles tried to side step him.  
“I have to go, you won’t-“ Erik side stepped too, continuing to stand between Charles and the exit. He felt a sick lurch of fear. Why was Erik so interested in keeping him here? He’d heard Charles’s secret, what more could he want from him? It was suddenly hard to breathe. 

He squinted at Erik’s face through increasingly blurry eyes. He couln’t read Erik’s expression. His heart thudded in his ears.  
“Charles!” Erik took him by the shoulders. “Listen to me.”   
Charles made a brief attempt at escaping Erik’s grip before he realised it was impossible. As ever, Erik was stronger than him. He sagged in Erik’s hands, waiting for the inevitable condemnation. Erik simply walked him backwards, reseating him on the couch next to Edie.

“Calm down. Please.” Charles drew a ragged breath, and waited, tensely. Edie shifted in her seat, and moved to embrace him again. “Can you tell me what on earth you’re talking about?” Erik said, finally. Edie frowned at him. There was a pause. Charles licked his lips, unsure of where to start.  
“You were in the car when your stepfather had his accident.” Edie prompted him, softly.  
“Yes.” Charles said, through numb lips. “I was.”  
“In the car? Not driving it?” Said Edie, quickly. Charles turned to look at her.

“Yes. It was my fault.” He admitted, reluctantly.  
“How? If you weren’t driving it, _how_ was it your fault?” Erik demanded. Charles put his head in his hands. Was this his punishment for concealing his terrible past? To be forced to relive through it, detail by detail, over and over? He blinked and swallowed, trying to keep his composure.  
“What exactly did you hear?” Charles said, evasively, to Erik.  
“I came in as Mutti was promising not to tell me or your sister.” Erik said. Charles winced.  
“Well, then, you heard everything. I killed my stepfather when I was seventeen. That’s it” He said, quietly. “Unless you have a morbid desire to hear all the details.” There was a pause. Charles stared at his knees again. 

Erik stared at Charles some more, and then he sighed, and sat down next to him.  
“I think perhaps I am morbid enough to want all the details.” Charles looked at him incredulously for a second, before swinging his gaze back to his knees. Erik draped an arm across his shoulders and gave the other man a little shake. “Tell me. Please.” Edie murmured an encouragement from his other side.

Trapped, Charles drew a deep breath, and began to talk..  
“I. Kurt and I never got on.” He swallowed again. “He and I were in the car…”  
“He was driving?” Erik said, neutrally.  
“Yes, I sat in the back when I could.”  
“Oh, why?” Said Edie,gently.

“It was further away. He couldn’t touch me then, unless he stopped the car. I could brace myself then, be ready for it…” Charles was rambling, he realised. Trying to evade the painful truth. Edie and Erik deserved better. He took another deep breath and launched himself through the memory one more time.

_Kurt was shouting at him again. He couldn’t remember what he’d done this time. His ribs were hurting, so he unsnapped his seatbelt. The pressure on his bruises eased, he could reply to the wilder accusations calmly. Kurt wanted him to sign some papers. He also wanted Charles to stop demanding money for his fees, and to generally leave Raven alone to be brought up decently. Charles let him ramble on, and on, and finally said, quietly  
“No”_

_Kurt was furious. He’d never had to deal with Charles’s defiance before, but Charles would not be moved. Sharon was no longer there to be used as a weapon in Kurt’s arsenal. The money she’d left behind her was all Raven and he could have of her, he wasn’t letting that go._

_Nor was he leaving his sister alone with Kurt at any point in his life. He said so.  
“What?” Kurt raged, stamping on the brakes. Charles was flung forwards, into the seat. He was dazed by the blow._

“Then what happened?” Erik asked, as Charles broke off, shaking slightly.

“I- we were rear-ended, I think, I wasn’t paying attention” Charles shivered again, trying not to remember the metallic crunch that had shattered everything. “I think I went through the windscreen? I don’t really remember that part. I remember lying in mud; lots of mud, at the side of the road, and watching the cars spin round and stop.”  
“Charles, leibe, I don’t understand.” Edie said, frowning. “How does that make it your fault?” He blinked. Erik gasped, staring at his mother.  
“I- the car caught on fire. I didn’t get him out.” Charles faltered. “I distracted him and I didn’t help-“ His eyes stung. He swiped at them with a shaking hand.

“You’d just been flung out of the car during an accident, Charles!” Erik snapped “Could you have helped? Could you even walk?”  
“I, well, Cain, he said, he always said.” Charles blinked rapidly. “It. My fault. I should have-"  
“Could you _walk,_ Charles?” Erik persisted. “How badly were you hurt?”

“I- Cain came to me in hospital, my arm was broken, and I had concussion, and he said, he s-said.” Charles faltered. “I shouldn’t have distracted him, it was my fault, I’d killed his father and-“  
“I don’t care what he said, Charles.” Erik said, surprisingly gently. “You weren’t driving. It was Kurt’s responsibility avoid an accident.”  
“And how would you have helped, with a broken arm?” Charles gulped. “Did Kurt even survive the first impact?” Edie added. Charles stared at her, suddenly startled. He had never thought of that. Never questioned Cain’s story that Kurt had burnt to death because of him.  
“I don’t know.” He said, slowly. “But why would Cain lie?”

Erik snorted. “Because he’s a violent asshole who wanted a lot of money that didn’t belong to him, perhaps?”   
“No, I…” Charles couldn’t think. He tried to think of something that would support Cain’s stories, and couldn’t. “I, I don’t…” he trailed off. He could not believe he had spent so long believing a lie. Again, there was a short silence. Then Erik drew a breath and turned Charles to face him, staring into his eyes as he said, firmly:  
“Charles. Listen to me. What happened; in that car, was _not your fault._ Not your responsibility.” He waited for Charles’s response.

“Do you understand that?” Erik pressed, lightly.  
“I... How can you be sure?” Charles stammered, dazed by hope and anxiety.  
“Trust us, leibe.” Edie said, quietly. Charles’s gaze snapped back towards her. “We’re sure.” she continued, just as firmly as her son. 

Convinced of their belief in him, if not much else, Charles dissolved into racking, ugly sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the tax and inheritance parts of this are heavily handwaved, on account of me not wanting to write five chapters on will fraud and how to do it. Sorry about that, please drive on.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is upset, Erik plans.

Charles wept, the tears coming slowly and painfully from somewhere deep inside. Erik held on to him, letting him cry. Edie embraced them both, and the three of them were more or less silent, apart from Charles’s sobs, for some time. Finally, Charles’s tears slowed and then stopped. Erik was secretly relieved- he’d begun wondering if Charles was actually going to be able to stop crying by himself. His face was swollen and blotchy with bruises and tear marks.

Erik felt a brief spasm of rage at the sight of those bruises, and shut it away with an effort. Much as he wanted to punch Cain in the face, repeatedly, Erik’s priority right now had to be Charles. Who was possibly still in shock and was also recovering from years of mental trauma. He swallowed down his anger again. Edie patted him approvingly on the shoulder, and levered herself out of her seat. Muttering about tea and food, she walked out of the living room. Erik heard the tap run as she filled the kettle, and hoped that she wasn’t too upset herself. Edie really liked Charles.

Erik leaned back, and pulled Charles, who was leaning on him increasingly heavily, along with him. Charles slumped bonelessly on top of Erik in exhaustion. Erik began to run his fingers through the feathery dark strands of his hair. Charles made a startled, happy noise. Quietly, Erik began plotting. The Plan would need reworking. It had been drawn up in the assumption that Kurt had misdirected the money, and Cain had benefited. Not that Cain himself had been most of the reason behind Charles’ poverty and suffering.

The Plan had been relatively simple- find out where Cain kept his money, why none it of was Charles’s and rectify the situation with some legal sleight of hand and/or a generous amount of threats. The reality was far worse, and so Cain would need some very special recompense for his behaviour. Possibly Emma could suggest a few details. Or maybe Janos. Something… thorough.

At that moment, Charles snuffled wetly into his chest.  
“M sorry.” He mumbled, thickly, and snuffled some more. He twitched.  
“Don’t be.” Erik said, calmingly. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
“Not for that… gettin’ your shirt all wet.” Charles turned his head, resting his cheek on Erik’s damp shirt.  
“It’ll dry.” Erik said, reassuringly. His arms tightened around Charles reflexively. Charles moved his own arms then, folding them around Erik’s’ shoulders trustingly. Erik hummed, happily. _Charles was hugging him._

Granted, it was after having been beaten up and then having to relive gut churning emotional trauma, but it had to mean something, didn’t it, that Charles reached out to him after that? Erik watched Charles’s elegant eyelashes flutter as the man blinked. One of Charles’s hands found its way onto Erik’s chest, clutching the still damp shirt unconsciously. Erik felt a quiet flutter of his own, not unlike Charles’s eyelashes, somewhere in the vicinity of that gripping hand on his chest.

Charles’ breathing had slowed, and Erik thought the other man might be dozing. He bit back a yawn, and refrained from tracing his fingers along Charles’s eyebrows, which were tempting him. Gently, he dropped a kiss on Charles’ head, instead. Charles’s forehead creased, endearingly. For a moment Erik held his breath, half hoping Charles would not wake. His eyes did not open, so Erik breathed out again, carefully. Erik had no complaints about becoming a mattress for him. Charles was clearly tired, and needed his rest. Erik closed his eyes, and waited for Edie to come back through.

Erik was disturbed, sometime later, by the soundless but heavy arrival of both the cats onto the couch.  
“And where were you when he needed you?” Erik muttered. They ignored him, Wolverine curling up by Charles’s shins, while Sabretooth stalked along the arm of the couch to sit as near Erik’s head as possible. “Your breath stinks.” he advised the cat. Sabretooth ignored him, breathing heavily into Erik’s hair as a gentle hint that he wanted to be scratched. Erik decided to ignore him, at least until the claws came out. If he moved, he would disturb Charles’s rest.

Edie tiptoed back in, but started to walk normally when she saw her son’s eyes were still open. She smiled.  
“Charles is asleep?” He nodded. “Why are you both still in here? You should have put him in bed.” Erik rolled his eyes. He’d have put Charles to bed as soon as possible, if he could.  
“I don’t want to disturb him; he looks so tired.” Charles made a snuffling noise in his sleep. Edie looked at them both for a long moment. He gaze softened as she noticed that even asleep, Charles had not lost his hold on Erik’s shirt.

“Mutti, help?” Erik begged her quietly. Edie nodded. She helped Erik swing his feet, and Charles’ legs up onto the couch smoothly enough that Charles didn’t even stir. Affronted by the invasion of his personal space by human feet, Wolverine leapt away. Edie draped the afghan over their tangled legs, and smirked.  
“Do you need anything? A book, a drink?”  
“No… I’m settled for the duration.” Sabretooth padded down Erik’s shoulder then, to stretch out along his hip. 

Erik resolved to pet the cat as soon as his arms were no longer on Charles-holding duty; as the furry monster had only walked on him, thus avoiding disturbing Charles. Such good behaviour required a reward. Or a bribe, knowing the cat in question. Edie kissed them both on the forehead, prompting an eye roll from Erik, and a sleepy mutter from Charles. Then she flicked the light off, and went upstairs, leaving the pair cosied up to each other on the couch.

Erik drifted into sleep, warm and weighed down by cats and Charles. 

\----------------

Erik surveyed his assembled troops. Raven was sitting upright, fiddling with the Eisenhardt, Inc branded pens and paper. Janos and Az were having some kind of ankle kicking contest on one side of the table, and being glared at by Emma. He sighed. Well, every empire had to start somewhere. Edie, sitting next to him, patted his hand soothingly. He coughed, and when that didn’t work as a means of drawing attention to himself, slapped the table. Raven jumped. Everyone turned to look at him.  
“I’m calling this meeting to order.” He said. Emma raised an eyebrow.  
“Where’s Charles?” she said, pleasantly. Next to her, Victor raised his eyebrows.

“Job interview. He’s going for that post in Stark Industries.” Erik grimaced. He liked Tony as much as it was possible to; but he could not deny the fact that he didn’t like losing Charles to a semi-rival, even in just in the employment sphere. Unfortunately, Charles had flatly refused to even consider applying for any of the posts in Eisenhardt, so that had been that.

“Ah.”  
“Right, so, it’s come to light that vwe need to alter the Plan.” Erik said, instantly commanding everyone’s attention.  
“What?”  
“Again?” Az and Janos looked dubious. Erik restrained his snarl. They didn’t know yet. In calm tones, he gave them the missing information. Cain had heard about the inquiries being made, and had taken it out on Charles. With his fists. Edie looked guilty at this, and Victor shifted uncomfortably. Emma looked very calm., but then Emma would probably look calm while she was strangling you with your own intestines, Erik reflected.

Erik didn’t mention the full details of Charles’s “confession”; he wasn’t about to reveal things Charles likely wished he didn’t know. But he did lay out Cain’s attacks on Charles, his threats and his extortion of money over the years. Emma, of course, looked un ruffled. Janos and Az stopped their current slap fighting and were clearly planning something terrible. Raven’s eyes narrowed and Erik was pretty sure she’d want the full story, but that would be something he could deal with later.  
“Can we kill him?” Victor asked, hopefully.

“If we do, he won’t suffer enough.” Raven hissed. Emma nodded, regally. Edie smiled, grimly. Az smiled like a knifeblade, and Janos looked approving.  
“Oh, we’re not only to going after money and the thief through legal channels, we’re also going after Cain personally.” Emma smiled, sweet and cold. Even Erik had to repress a shudder. Seeing Emma this angry was terrifying.

“I gotta talk to my brother about this.” Victor said, thoughtfully. There was a pause.  
“Victor, Logan is a paediatrician.” Edie said, blankly. “What can he-“ Victor chuckled.  
“You forgettin’ who the parents of the kids he treats are?”  
“Who are they?” Raven asked. She wondered how on earth a kid’s doctor could be influential.  
Victor told her.

“Wow.” There was another, more thoughtful pause. “Well, I can volunteer a few eager students for any flash mob stuff or if you need unknown faces.” Raven said. “Alex just lives to create havoc.” She grinned, happily, at the thought. “And his little brother thinks Uncle Charles is just the best thing ever.”  
“Right.” Erik said. “Emma, you have the legal things in hand?” Emma made a note on her StarkPad, and nodded.  
“Of course. A little more research and I’ll be able to start the case proceedings next week.”

Victor cracked his knuckles, thoughtfully.  
“So. What shall we do to Cain first?” Erik grinned.

_“Everything.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me 27k of words to get their first kiss, and then it's a forehead kiss. So sorry, anyone who was hoping for anything steamier.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles reflects; Cain is both deeply unpleasant and deeply unlucky. The Plan begins.

Charles is feeling a little uncertain. Not of Erik, or Edie. Since his meltdown, many of his uncertainties surrounding his friendship with Erik had simply vanished. You don’t let a person weep and drip all over you and then act as their mattress unless you (a) are fond of them and (b) don’t think they’re guilty. Charles is uncertain that he is truly allowed to have this. Have Erik, the way he seems to want to be had. But he has told Erik his deepest shame, and Erik was not only completely unhorrified by it; he has decided Charles should not believe he was ever at fault. And Edie has agreed with him.

Waking up the next morning had been hideously embarrassing; as he reconstructed fragmentary memories of his complete confession and collapse; Charles had discovered he was actually sleeping on top of Erik, on the couch, curled in his arms and clinging to him almost like a child. Even the cats had looked a little judgemental  
Perhaps fortunately, for Charles it was also embarrassing for Erik as well as himself, judging by his mother’s huge grin, and Erik’s sheepish look. There had been a little more kissing, then, once she had left, smirking maternally. Erik is a good kisser, not that Charles has a vast range of experience to judge him by.

He tucks all this away when he goes into the interview room. He has a little concealer covering the worst of his black eye, and Janos’ suit sits nicely on his shoulders. He makes sure his smile is bright and his handshake is firm as he greets Ms Potts and the other interviewers. First impressions count. Charles does not think the CEO’s own second sat in on most interviews at his level, and he quashes a monetary flicker of apprehension that Erik has been meddling again as the interview begins in full. He’ll ask Erik later. Right now he has to prove his competence, his interest in Stark Industries, and his general desirability as an employee.

The interview goes quite well, he thinks. To be honest with himself, Charles is mostly pleased that he actually made it to this far into the application process. His resume has usually been returned, stamped with invisible rejections, virtually before he has posted it off. Erik comes to meet him from the interview, which would be worrying, but no one seems to recognise him. This means, if he does get a second interview, it’ll be on his own merits. Charles allows himself to kiss, and indeed, hug Erik, this time in public. It’s almost as much fun as in private.

“Well?” Erik demands, brusquely. Charles looks at him placidly.  
“Well, what, Erik?” He opens his bright blue eyes wide.  
“How did it go?” Charles shrugs, almost successfully casual.  
“Oh, not so bad, I think. Wanted to check on my immigration status, as usual.”  
“It’s your accent; it’s adorable but it’s not entirely American, is it?”

“Adorable?” Charles flushes, delightfully, Erik thinks. He takes advantage of his friends’ temporary discombobulation to draw him in close and kiss him again. Charles feels his knees weaken.  
“Have lunch with me?” Erik purrs. Charles runs a hand through his hair, thinking.   
“I, um..” His hair is as absurdly attractive as the rest of him, Erik reflects, briefly. .  
“My treat, come on. Let me.” Erik gives Charles his hungriest smile. Charles seems to find it attractive. Charles thinks for a moment before yielding to temptation.  
“I... yes.” Erik smiles again, and kisses him more deeply.

Erik loves the way Charles looks in a suit. He likes watching Charles’s pupils expand as he’s kissed. He wants to see them dilate all the way, drown the blue of his eyes with blackness of desire, but he isn’t quite ready to try that in public. He’s not in the business of free shows. So he pulls his mouth away from Charles eventually, and hauls Charles off in the direction of his lunch reservation.

\-------------------------

Things aren’t how they used to be. Nothing in life comes free, Cain Marko knows, but lately, life’s been getting a little harder. Even for him, and he’s as smart as his dad always wanted him to be, by now. Things have gotten complicated. He’d done good, completing the… takeover of the Xavier estates Kurt had begun when he’d married Sharon. That dumb drunk had made Cain’s teen years hell, what with having to move, to her place and endure her brats as well as her boozy presence, but it had been worth it, for the money.

Cain couldn’t touch the capital of the trusts, only being a stepson, and not really being mentioned in the wills properly, but the interest was almost enough to have fun with. The seed money for his investments, both the legal and the not so legal, had come from Xavier money. Cain reckoned he’d earned it, putting up with Sharon for so long, and helping Dad to get it away from the brats. Oh, little Charlie had tried to hang on to it, growing a spine at the worst possible moment, but Kurt had put most of a stop to that, and Cain had done the rest. 

A few pointed questions, a few accusations when he’d been recovering, and Charlie had run scared; too scared to do anything except drop out of college and look after his stupid sister. The way his life had fallen apart, Cain thought he’d probably done Charles a favour. The brat would probably have hurt himself worse if he’d ever had access to money. Charlie would have spent it on drink, or drugs, or education, or his sister. Maybe even charity. Some stupid thing like that.

Of course Cain had kept an eye on his stepbrother. It had paid off. A few of his friends, or his employers had needed a talking to. Cain didn’t want Charles getting ideas above his station. He was a dumb college drop out with no life, and no future, end of story. Cain didn’t want anyone thinking any different. Least of all, Charlie himself. No, Charlie was one of the doormats of life, and Cain kept on making sure he knew it. A few friends had had trouble getting the message in the past, and Cain didn’t bother all that often. Just enough that Charles knew he was always gonna be alone and struggling, and believed he deserved it.

Cain was prepared to admit, he’d taken his eye off the ball this time, though. Somehow, Charlie’s wriggled his way into the favour of some businessman bigwig. Probably by lying back and thinking of Raven, Cain’s sure. Some people like ‘em dumb and pretty and submissive, and this Lensherr looks the type. God knows, he can’t be keeping Charlie around for his conversation. But however they meet, Lensherr takes a shine to him, and after that, he’s all over Charlie’s life like a rash. 

Everywhere Cain has ears, he hears about Lensherr or his hangers on allowing Charlie to float around with them. Weird. That’s partly why he goes to see Charlie every now and then. A little therapeutic talking to- he hasn’t had to do it in years- is always fun when he picks someone who won’t talk back, whether to him or the police. He knows Charlie won’t talk. He’d have done it before now, if he was ever going to. _Someone_ has been talking, though, or at least, they’ve been asking questions. Cain’s got no time for blackmail, unless he’s the one putting pressure on, and the questions being asked, well, it’s someone thinking of blackmail if Cain is lucky, and the police or FBI if he’s not. It makes him twitchy.

After that, it’s like someone’s cursed him, if you’re dumb enough to believe in curses. Cain isn’t, but lately, he’s started to wonder. There’s coincidence, of course, and everyone gets unlucky sometimes, but really, this is getting way past that. Both his girlfriends find out about each other; and, gold diggers that they are, leave him… after one’s gone through the joint account and the other rips a drug dealer off so bad from Cain’s address, he’s after Cain’s ass for $50k just as a down payment. Cain’s just lucky he’s allowed an instalment plan; the dealer knows about the Xavier money.

He can’t go out without his pocket being picked. It’s like someone painted a target on his back, or something. He’s been mugged almost every evening he goes out, too, and they keep punching him in the face. The last guy had (a) maybe been a girl and (b) had a gun and (c) had punched him in balls repeatedly, even after he’d had Cain’s wallet. Staying in is no fun either. One of the girls has clearly done the fish in the wardrobe trick, or something; Cain can’t work out where it’s coming from, but the place stinks like, well, rotten fish. The neighbours are complaining every time they see him. “Hey,” Cain wants to say, “You think I like living in this pigsty?”

Between the drug dealer and the empty account, though, moving is not a good idea right now. So Cain stays in, wonders what’s wrong with the fridge that his beer is always going flat, and tries to find the source of the damn beeping noise. It’s a shrill, irregular beep, and it’s been going off for the last week. Cain has disassembled his microwave, turned off his house alarm, car alarm, smoke alarm, and the beeping keeps going! Like some demented thing determined to drive him crazy. 

Last night it sounded every five minutes between 11pm and 4am, then fell silent just long enough for Cain to relax, and fall asleep and then the beeping started right by his goddamned ear, loud enough to wake the dead, and completely without any pattern. Cain’s started drinking more, he’s so worn and stressed by everything, but even that has drawbacks. He keeps getting sick; food poisoning from every take away, headaches, the works. He’d eat out, but not a single place will take his reservations.

He tried going out with friends for a meal once; the maitr’d looked at them, made a phone call, and then threw them out; and took care to let them all know they were all banned for life, because they’d brought Cain along. He hasn’t seen them since. Some friends. Cain is therefore not in the best frame of mind to hear that Charlie’s taking him to court over those trusts of his. He’s not surprised though. Somehow, one of Lensherr’s groupies has found out about the money, and now that bastard wants his share. It doesn’t surprise him though.

No one would hang about with Charlie if he didn’t offer them something; and Lensherr’s probably got enough money to buy a girl or boyfriend if he really wants. He’s just like everyone else, once he heard about the Xavier money, he was after it. Cain really should make sure Charlie knows about that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has good news, Cain has bad news. Then Charles gets bad news, and also the author suddenly introduces some crossover characters. Because she _can_ , damnit.

“Erik! Charles yelled, as he walked in the door. He sounded… odd. Erik wasn’t sure if he was angry or happy.  
“What?” he said, as innocently as possible, and considered blinking.  
“Did you have anything to do with this?” Charles shook a letter at him. The paper rustled, ominously. Erik scanned his conscience. Nope, he had nothing to declare there. Unless the letter was from Cain, whining about his sad, sad little life since he had attacked his stepbrother for what, Erik was absolutely certain, was going to be the last time. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“I got the job!” Charles swept Erik up into a hug. Delighted at Charles’s spontaneous proximity, Erik kissed him. Charles kissed him back, and for a moment the conversation halted. Charles was a good kisser, despite Erik’s stubborn belief that Charles had had little experience before meeting him. Perhaps he was a quick learner. Of course, he did have a very good teacher, in Erik.

Erik took the chance to revel in this more confident side of Charles, which had revealed itself since he had been able to persuade Charles not to blame himself over Kurt Marko’s death. Charles was not only sweet and thoughtful; he was playful, happy and more than a little mischievous at times.  
“Congratulations! But what are you blaming me for?” Erik said when he had the use of his tongue again. Charles frowned at him, mock sternly.

“I know you know Tony Stark; are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with me getting the job?” Erik hated it when Charles was still uncertain about himself. He made a metal note to get Cain a new collection of headaches.  
“No, that was all you.” Erik assured him. Charles looked sceptical. “Well, you and Janos’s suit.” All safely true, and even if Charles worked out that Emma knew Miss Potts, well, he wasn’t going to question her. Not that Emma had done more than make sure Charles’s resume got read. Pepper Potts had a sharp eye for untapped potential.

“Are you going to let Mutti and Emma indulge themselves with your new work wardrobe?”  
Charles smiled, and shook his head, flushing.  
“I’d rather not. I have enough for now. Perhaps after my first month in the job.”  
“Or perhaps you could call it a loan. Pay them back when you get paid.” Erik coaxed, as he led Charles into the kitchen.

“I… think their idea of my clothing budget may be a little exaggerated.” Charles murmured. Erik reached into the refrigerator for the champagne. Now was definitely a time for celebration, in his opinion. Charles was happy.  
“Well, you could always pay them back after you win the case against Cain.” He suggested, diffidently. Charles shook his head.  
“I don’t know if that’ll succeed-“ he said, uneasily.

“It will.” Erik said, serenely. He had no intention of explaining to Charles just why he was so certain, given the methods he was currently employing. This left him without a counter when Charles said, firmly;  
“I can’t rely on it. And it’s a lot further away than the end of the month, so…” Damn. Charles’ growing self confidence was working against him. This was not how things were supposed to go. 

A thought struck Erik.  
“When’s your birthday, again?” he enquired, as innocently as possible.  
“Nice try.” Charles said, firmly. “Not for months.” Erik drooped. He caught a glimpse of Charles’ expression and tried drooping some more.  
“No.” Charles said, again. Erik sighed, deeply, and popped the champagne cork. As he poured the crisp, bubbly wine into glasses, he smiled to himself. Charles took a glass, quirking an eyebrow at Erik’s expression. Erik kissed him again, and didn’t explain.

 _Raven’s_ birthday was next week.

\--------------

Cain was sweating. His air conditioning had broken down again. Also, his lawyer was making an unhappy face at the latest set of Trust Accounts he’d been looking at. Secure in the knowledge that Charles would never question him, and sick of looking at the brat’s stupid face, he’d given up on legal compliance long ago. That had seemed like a bright idea at the time; but now his forgeries of the Xavier siblings signatures, among other little corner cuts, were coming back to haunt him. Inwardly, he cursed Lensherr again. The damn Kraut had given Charlie back his spine, at the worst possible time.

Bills were coming due, and he was having a hard time knowing how he was going to pay them without liquidating some of his investments. Cain was angry about that. The investments were his; proof that he was just as sharp a business man as his dad, and now, thanks to Charlie, he was losing them. Damn brat. He’d thought of paying him a visit; which would have put paid to this whole damn legal song and dance, but he couldn’t. Even though he’d have enjoyed it, he couldn’t. It was coming to something when you couldn’t go talk sense into your family.  
Step family. Whatever.

But someone had told Charlie about Protection Orders and now he, Cain, couldn’t come within 50 yards of the little limey snot without risking arrest. And his lawyer had warned him to stay away, or it might hurt their case. Where had it all gone so wrong? Cain was pretty sure he’d remember having walked under fifty ladders. Charlie had a court order out on him, and, more importantly, he had more or less stopped living in his shithole of an apartment. He’d left his crappy jobs, and had almost totally disappeared.

Maybe he’d moved into Lensherr’s place, and had embraced his life as a toy boy, but Cain wasn’t buying it. For one thing, there was no way someone like Lensherr would settle for someone like Charlie when he had that blonde lawyer of his about. For another, Charlie was pretty much too old and shop worn for that. He’d met Lensherr’s lawyer when papers had been served; she was the original Ice Queen. Probably she had to do that to shake off all the dumb guys who tried to get her into bed; at least the speed she’d knocked Cain back when he’d asked her to dinner- she had a fine ass-made him think that she couldn’t tell the difference between a jerk and a real man.

He’d show her the reasons Cain was a better bet than Charlie and whoever was hanging on to him, one day, maybe after the he won the court case, or got Charlie to drop it, and she saw her boss was a loser, too.

It probably came back to the money. Lensherr was taking care of his investment; that was all. He was probably getting a little from Charlie as well what man ever said no to a mouth like that, when it wasn’t talking? But that he- or anyone could actually like, let alone love the little shit- Cain didn’t buy it. Anyway. If he couldn’t get at Charlie directly, well, Cain was versatile. He’d go for indirect, instead. There was Raven to think about. There were the dumb projects he wasted his time at. There were his cats. Cain would think of something.

\-------------------

Charles looked around the tiny walls of his cubicle at Stark Industries happily. The first month was always the hardest, but now he felt confident enough to mark the walls as his. The Stark Industries calendar and wall planner (male model version) had been joined by a snap of Raven and another of Erik and the gang. Erik’s face on the photo was sufficiently unclear that no one would think Charles was pinning pictures of CEOs to his wall, well, apart from the one of Tony Stark on the calendar. 

Stark Industries produced two such calendars; one illustrated with women and one with men. This was apparently the decision of the CEO; Tony Stark had explained this to many, many journalists as “Stark Industries is a very equal opportunity workplace, if you know what I mean.” Having Tony Stark as CEO and resident genius made for an interesting company culture, Charles thought, with a smile. He doubted Tony would remember him after all these years, but the man was not so different from the boy Charles had taken refuge with at various boring society parties.

The office Charles was in, which supported the Bio Sciences division was lively and hardworking. And full of very clever people. Clearly they were too busy to be truly bored, but even so they managed to rustle up enough in office entertainment. Charles loved it. They were never going to get all the action figures unstuck from the walls, though. He was giving serious thought to perhaps risking a cactus or other tough plant, when his phone rang. Charles gave the pile of business files he was supposed to be weeding and updating a guilty look as he picked the phone up. They gave him a reproachful cardboard response.

“Hello?”  
“Mr Xavier. Phil Coulson, here, from HR.” Charles swallowed. What could HR want with him? They already had all his details and papers. Coulson continued. “Could you step into my office please? A minor matter has come up that we need you to clarify for us.” Dread pooled in Charles’ stomach. That did not sound good. True, Phil Coulson was an unnaturally calm man, who could make any announcement sound ominous simply by the nature of his level and calm tone. And it was quite likely this was all just a minor issue that could be straightened out easily. But Charles had lost too many jobs in his time to feel tranquil about this unexpected summons.

Cain had definitely been behind some of those job losses. Charles had been sure of it for years. He had sometimes thought that he had been fooling himself, pretending it was someone else’s fault the only jobs he could ever keep were the entry level, low paid retail based ones. Mostly, though, he was sure that he was capable of office work. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. He straightened his tie. At least, he reflected, as he made his way towards HR , he could reassure himself he looked the part of a decent office worker. Erik had been sneaky. Raven’s birthday present from him had been a suit for Charles. Raven had not just gone along with it; she had been part of the plan from the beginning.

Charles was fairly sure Emma or Edie had thought of it, but Erik had been the most enthusiastic force behind it. Sneaky brats, the pair of them. The “present” of his bewildered acceptance of a good suit wasn’t the only thing Raven had received from the gang; at least Charles was reasonably sure that the earrings she was wearing now were not glass or crystal, but real gems. They looked good on her. 

Just as the suit, Charles admitted to himself, very privately, looked well on him. He had to be careful or they’d get the idea that it was somehow alright to drown him in gifts. Charles did not want to drown. He was forced to admit, however, the occasional dip into someone else’s generosity was quite… refreshing and pleasant.  
Swallowing nervously again, Charles gently tapped his knuckles against Mr Coulson’s door.  
“You asked me to come up, sir?”

“Oh, hello, Mr Xavier. Thank you for stopping by so promptly.” Charles walked in, nervously. Being summoned to HR was never a good thing. Coulson busied himself with offers of tea, or coffee, or juice. Charles accepted water, to give his hands something to do, and stared at the simple folder lying on Coulson’s desk. It was blank, with no name or code on it to suggest what was inside.   
“Was there a problem with any of my information? Charles asked, hopefully.  
“No, not at all.” Coulson said, reassuringly. Charles did not feel reassured.

“ And my work?” Charles said, tentatively.  
“Oh, no complaints there.” Coulson said, more firmly. “The opposite, if anything. You’ve been receiving glowing reports across the department.” Charles nodded.  
“No, this is about something else.” Coulson regarded his hands for a moment. Charles tried to breathe deeply as unobtrusively as possible; hoping it would slow his pulse to acceptable levels. He was feeling deeply uneasy now.  
“This is somewhat difficult to say.” Coulson looked up from his regard of his folded hands.

“We’ve received a number of… unusual communications about you.” Charles’ heart sank.  
“Ah.” he said, neutrally. Cain. Probably. “Can you give me any more details?”  
“Not client complaints, and not negative feedback from your colleagues, either. Nothing from your referees.” Coulson said next, as if he was anticipating Charles’s hopes and wanted to crush them all separately.  
“But they are negative?” Charles said, calmly. 

He was prepared to bet that if random people had decided to contact HR to sing his praises, the meeting would be going very differently.  
“I’m afraid so.” Coulson nodded. Definitely Cain, then. Charles sighed. He knew this drill, all right. Cain had pulled it before; planting rumours, sending accusatory letters and so on. Even if they didn’t believe the letters right off the bat, most employers grew wary about him after that. Most companies didn’t want employees with awkward aspects like this in their lives; and of course, he was still well within his three month trial period. Getting rid of him was simply the sensible thing to do.

“I can have my desk cleared by the end of lunchtime; if you need, or I can work to the end of the week, if you prefer.” Charles said, clinging to dignified calm by his fingertips. He wasn’t going to cry, or yell here. He’d get out of the building, get to Erik’s, and have a meltdown then. He’d really thought he was getting somewhere at last.  
Coulson looked startled. His eyes narrowed. Charles slumped.  
“That… That won’t be necessary, Charles.” He said, quietly. Charles slumped further. It was always worse when they insisted on packing up his stuff themselves.

“Ah.” Was all he managed to say in response. Coulson looked at him worriedly. “It’s all right, I know the drill, Mr Coulson. It’s happened before.” He tried not to sound bitter. Judging by the other man’s expression, he didn’t quite succeed. Not a surprise, really.  
“No, I mean it won’t be necessary, because we’re not letting you go.” Coulson said, gently.   
“What?” Charles said, confusedly. This was not how this usually went. Coulson smiled, faintly.

“The purpose of this meeting was to alert you to the fact that Stark Industries places no stock in these…” he trailed off, tapping the folder in front of him, contemptuously “Wild accusations and slurs made with poor grammar.” Charles felt his jaw drop.  
“This company does not tolerate any harassment of its employees.” Coulson said, firmly. Charles nodded, spellbound. Coulson was not finished with making startling pronouncements. “And also, I’d like to determine if you’re receiving enough support in dealing with your harasser, if he or she is causing you problems outside the workplace.”

“I… Um. Sorry. I may have jumped the gun a little there.” Charles said, sheepishly.  
“Well, if you’ve had to deal with previous employers over-reacting like that, I can’t say I’m surprised you thought the worst.” Coulson smiled again. Charles tried to smile back.  
“We’ve had the odd – sometimes very odd- problem like this before, Mr Xavier” Coulson said, gently.   
“Ms Potts, let alone Mr Stark, is not a person to take such a cowardly and short sighted path as just getting rid of the employee in question. Especially not one of your calibre.”

“Oh. I. Um. Thank you?” Charles said, still feeling a little numb from the emotional whiplash that had jerked through him.  
“To say nothing of my personal views on such things.” Coulson gave a short cough, clearing his throat. “Now. We’ve kept all copies of these communications; plus details and footage of how they arrived and who brought them. We can either hold them on file; we can destroy them, or begin the legal process of tracing the sender and crushing them with the full weight of my disapproval.”

“Just your disapproval?” Charles ventured. Coulson gave a thin smile, glancing up at the ceiling, before saying:  
“Not just mine, no, Mr Xavier.” There was a pause. “Also, whatever legal penalties that could be extracted by law, of course.”  
“Of course,” said Charles, mock solemnly, trying to force down the rising bubble of hysterical mirth.  
“You don’t have to decide right now. Take the afternoon, go home, talk to your family, and think about it.” Coulson said, into the silence that followed. “Stark Industries is in your corner; we won’t be threatened, and we won’t let our employees be threatened or harassed through us.” Charles blinked.

“I, um, thank you. I- could I have a copy of them, please? I need to know what was being said-“ He did. Desperately. He had no idea how Cain’s insinuations could have deteriorated to the point where their recipient immediately offered Charles complete support, without question, instead of at least cross-questioning him and forcing him to prove himself not guilty.  
“Of course.” Coulson said, immediately. “Here.” He held out the folder to Charles. “My advice is, don’t read it alone. It never helps.” Charles took it, and stood, awkwardly.

“Thank you.” Coulson nodded, and stood also, shaking his hand.  
“Mr Xavier- Charles?” Charles turned back to him “Please let us know if you start receiving these… things at home.” He nodded his assent, and left.  
“ _That_ went well.” Coulson said to the ceiling, which offered no opinion of the matter in response. “ Hope we don't lose him.” The ceiling continued not to respond.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legal shenanigans. The crossover business is getting out of hand. Sorry about that.

Charles was not sure what he had been _thinking_. Cain was almost certainly going to try and bully him into going away and shutting up. He might be expecting Charles to bring a lawyer to this meeting; he wouldn’t be expecting this deadly husband and wife team. Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov were famous for the cases they handled and the results they got. Charles would never have been able to afford even one of them; if they hadn’t agreed they owed their son’s doctor a favour. 

Logan, the brother of Victor, Erik’s driver, had talked to them about Charles, apparently, and the legal tangles of the Xavier Trusts. One look at his case, one conversation later, and they’d been in. Pro Bono, too, which was unusual. Charles had doubted that getting him the Xavier estates back really counted as being in the public benefit, but Clint had simply clapped him on the back when he worried aloud and offered him another coffee.   
“Hey, I bet you’ll spend your family money on better things than that big lug.” He’d leaned back in his chair and grinned in a manner that was quite filthy, for a lawyer.

“Besides, Nat really likes sharpening her claws on guys like Cain Marko. And I really enjoy watching her in action. We’re the public, too.” he had assured Charles then, and Charles, suddenly encouraged, had dared to hope the whole thing could be sorted out without unpleasant court trips and legal judgements. Charles fiddled with his tie. He hated waiting for Cain to grace them with his presence.  
“Don’t.” Natasha said calmly. Charles stopped. He sighed. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just that- Well, Cain.” He tried to smile, apologetically. It wasn’t very successful. Natasha’s eyes darkened. She muttered something in Russian Charles could not understand.  
“He won’t try anything in front of us” Clint said, serenely. “Not if he’s smart.”  
“Ah. There, you kind of put your finger on part of the problem.” Charles said, trying to sound amused instead of terrified. Cain had suggested they meet for an out-of-court settlement. This, he said, would save on lawyer’s fees, and publicity. Charles had agreed, in a fit of hopeful madness. 

Clint grinned, wide and friendly. Natasha’s face did not change at all.  
“Trust me. He tries that, we’re prepared.”  
“I just don’t want anyone getting hurt.” Charles fretted again. Clint’s face softened, slightly, into a fiercely anticipatory glee.  
“Won’t be you or Nat getting’ hurt.” He said, brightly. “Or me.” Charles gaped. Clint shrugged.

“Like I said. I _really_ like seeing her in action.” His smirk was filthy again. Charles blushed. Natasha slapped her husband on the back of the head.   
“Behave. Our client is a decent man, a gentleman. He should not have to put up with lewdness.”  
“I can see he’s a decent man. I just-“ Clint grumbled.  
“Clint. Enough.” Her voice was sweet and cold, like frozen honey. Clint shut up and sat up. He did so only just in time. 

The door swung open and Cain lumbered in, alone. He blinked at the Barton-Romanovs, startled. Charles leant forwards, preparing to stand up; when a warning pressure on his shoulder from Clint kept him seated. Cain stared at them, silently, perhaps trying to be menacing, but only coming across as confused. Cain did not look at all well, Charles thought, distractedly. He looked tired, flabby and old. His suit was stained, and his shirt hadn’t been ironed. 

“Thank you for your promptness, Mr Marko. Shall we begin?” Natasha said, sweetly.

\----------------------

Cain couldn’t believe it. Charlie had finally found his balls. Maybe Lensherr had them hidden down his pants, or something. But here he was, spine straight and voice clear, like Cain couldn’t hurt him. He’d have admired the little shit, if he hadn’t been the one to suffer for it. Well, maybe the two bodyguards he had with him helped. They were both sleek an’ deadly, like hunting dogs or sharks or something, staring at Cain like he was lunch and they were just waiting for the signal to start biting. Dangerous eyes, that’s what it was. Not that they frightened Cain, no way.

How had little Chuckie managed to get lawyers from Shield & Fury? Let alone those two? He hadn’t thought Charlie would be able to afford even one of them. It was a clear sign Lensherr must be bankrolling them; something that Cain took as a warning not to get tangled up in this. Lensherr could outspend any lawyers he could locate, by a factor of about five hundred. Cain swallowed down a bubble of resentment, and made sure he had his listening face on. The one he’d used when his girlfriends or business advisors were whining about things again. He wanted to look like he was planning to co-operate.

Cain had reckoned on his lawyers being able to out think and out talk anyone Charlie could scrape up; now he was not so sure. Plus a lot of lawyers- and other businessmen- seemed unwilling to deal with Cain anymore. Assholes, all of them. Well. Not like that was really news, now, was it? So he played along. Looked like he was listening. Like he was willing to “co operate”.

Charles didn’t come right out and say he wanted his money back; or that he’d settle for what was actually his and let- let! Cain keep what he’d already spent. How very nice of him. Little limey shit. Still, Charlie was probably just being practical for once in his dreamy-ass life. No way was Cain able to give him money he’d already spent. Hell, he didn’t have enough _now._ He squashed down a worry about that. He still had his investments. He still had something. So Charlie not asking for it back just made it simpler.

Cain was smart, just like his Dad. He could come back from this setback, he was sure. With a little luck, just a little, he’d be right back among the rich set again. All he’d need, he thought, staring resentfully at Charles’s bowed head, was a little break. Charlie could have the interest from the trusts this year, and by next. Well. All kinds of things could happen in a year. Couldn’t they?

Charlie left the room. Cain rolled his eyes sideways, checking on the lawyer’s progress through the papers. He wasn’t going to be signing nothing. Not today. He wasn’t stupid. Signing stuff got you in trouble. Verbal agreements were much better.  
“You will sign this.” Natasha didn’t look up from her paper reading. “Sooner or later. It will be better for you if it is sooner.” Next to her, her lover boy husband grinned.

“That a threat? I don’t-“ Cain rumbled, but she over rode him  
“We do not deal in threats. Just facts.” She said, calmly. Like some goddamn robot.  
Cain snorted, trying to hide the unease that he was beginning to feel  
“Listen, sweetheart-“  
“DO NOT call my wife sweetheart” Clint said, also calmly. “Just do what she says, asshole.”  
“Hey!” Cain wasn’t sure why he was feeling so threatened. He didn’t like it.

“Or don’t. I don’t care. You don’t, I get to watch her dissect you, so?” he rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug. “Either way, I get something out of it.”  
Cain glared at him. Clint smiled happily back.  
“You have been using monies from the Xavier Trusts that do not belong to you.” Natasha said, still calm. “For about ten years.”

“I was named-“ Cain tried to bluster.  
“Don’t try that bullshit on us, pal.” Clint said.  
“For some reason, my client would prefer an out of court settlement, if possible.”   
“Yeah, I just _bet_ Charlie-boy does. Doesn’t want what I could say said in public. Maybe you don’t, either.” Natasha’s stare did not waver. Cain tried to smirk. It proved oddly difficult.

“Embezzlement and fraud on this scale and for this length of time carry a heavy sentence, Mr Marko.” She said, quietly. Cain frowned.   
“Embezzlement?” That did not sound good.   
“For a start.” Clint said, equally quietly. Cain swallowed. His hands clenched into fists. He didn’t think they were bluffing. Charles came back in, looking pale. Cain glared at his stepbrother, and was pleased to see him flinch. Yeah, Charlie still respected him, alright.

“I ain’t gonna dissolve the Trusts just ‘cause you have a backbone now, Charlie!” he snapped. Hell, he couldn’t dissolve the Trusts. The money in them belonged, legally, anyway, to Charlie and the brat. Cain only got the interest because he’d been an executor.  
“No.” Charles said, quietly. “You’re going to do it because you have to. Either now, or on the other side of a court case you should know, if you have even half a brain, _you cannot possibly win.”_ He tucked his hands below the table, where Cain couldn’t see them shaking.

Natasha threw him a swift, approving glance. Then she swung her gaze back to Cain, and quirked an eyebrow. “Well?” Cain surged to his feet, and slammed his hands on the table  
“I ain’t-“ he began to bellow.  
“Sit _down,_ Marko!” Clint snapped. Cain ignored him, staring at Charlie, wanting him to flinch and cower like he always did. He stepped sideways, trying to get closer. Charles twitched. Cain smirked. He stepped again. 

Natasha stood up. There was a brief, blurred moment, and then Cain was lying face down on the table, both arms twisted behind his back. He made a roaring noise, and tried to buck Natasha off. She tightened her grip, and Cain was forced to subside or dislocate his own shoulders.Clint gazed at his wife subduing Cain with a happy, dreamy look in his eyes.  
“Better calm down, pal.” He advised. Then he nudged Charles in the ribs. “Isn’t she beautiful?” 

Charles coughed, stunned. What did you say to that?  
“Please, Cain. See reason.” Charles said, softly. There was a long pause.  
“Alright. I’M CALM.” Cain snapped. There was another pause. “I’ll sign. Let me up, bitch.” Natasha squeezed her grip tighter, and Cain shouted in pain. “Ask politely.”  
“Goddam it-“ Cain yelled again. “Please let me up?”Natasha released him. Handed him a pen. And the document.

Sullenly, Cain signed his name, repeatedly. Charles said nothing, signing where Clint told him to, silently. Natasha stood, arms folded, and stared at them both. Papers autographed, Cain stood, trying to conceal the rage and frustration burning in him.  
“See you around, lawyers. Don’t forget to watch your back, Charlie.” He said, almost affably, as he lumbered out of the door.

Charles let out a long sigh. Natasha said something descriptive and filthy in Russian. Clint stood up, strode towards her and kissed her passionately and repeatedly. Charles rested his head on the desk. Five minutes later, he felt a tap on his fore head. He looked up to see the pair had untangled themselves.  
“Mr Xavier.” Clint said solemnly. “You’re about to be a very rich man. Let us take you to lunch.” Natasha smiled, warmly. 

“Oh, I think lunch can be my treat, this time.” Charles said, almost cheerfully. “First fruits of success and all that.” He smiled, slightly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cats find thier voice, Cain is stupid, Charles is moving, and then there is a small amount of violence.

The Cats didn’t like the new flat. Charles hoped they would settle in, in time. Of course they had preferred living at Erik’s- so had Charles- but they had always been adaptable before. Wolverine was grumbling about the place like a squat, grumpy thunderstorm, and Sabretooth was perching on doortops and glaring, like a furry and malevolent vulture. Still, it was nice to have them back. Charles guiltily admitted to himself he had left them at Erik’s far too long after he had recovered; but they had eaten so much better there; and had had more people to interact with. It had been a respite from his care for them, and they had flourished.

Wolverine was _not sulking._ He was _brooding_ on the tragedy of his sufferings. He had enjoyed staying at the home of Erik-the-provider-of-bacons. It had been a place with many soft places and warm places to sleep. It had hidden places and tall places where a cat could stalk and leap as a true-clawed hunter should.   
Erik-provider had also had many minions who were often willing to scritch and pet a cat as he wished. All of them had been willing to serve the cats as good minions should. Edie-mistress-of-all in particular had very clever hands. The Gravel Tray had been emptied regularly. _There had been jingly things with feathers._

Charles-home had been there, too, which was good. Not that Wolverine needed him. He was a cat! He was a lurking and deadly terror, he was the best there was at what he did. Had been ever since he was a tiny kitten, curled with his foolish brother in The Bag where Charles-home had been allowed to find them and had begged to serve them. Erik-the-provider-of-bacons had clearly noticed that Charles-home belonged to Wolverine and his idiot brother. He also was a good caretaker; Wolverine had seen Charles-home gradually begin to grow sleeker and happier, like a cared for kitten should while he lived there. He had been much more willing to curl up and nap with his feline overlords, too.

Raven-kitten had not been there, but she had gone away long before, only coming back occasionally. Wolverine did not miss her or wonder if she was being looked after. At all. Sabretooth did worry, but, then, his brother had never been the clever one of the pair. That was Wolverine, whatever his brother said. Raven-kitten was clever. She could look after herself. Then Charles-home had gone away; and Erik-the-provider-of-bacons and his minions had been sad, although not sad enough to stop feeding Wolverine (or his stupid brother) the tasty wet foods.

They had also kept up with the regular cleansing of the Necessary Gravel Tray of Comfort. The _jingly things_ had jingled as before. It had been bearable. Now Charles-home had come and taken him and his stupid brother away, cruelly forcing them into the Wicker Prison of torment and newspaper. Wolverine did not approve of this New Place. It did not smell properly at all. Where were their minions and their toys? Where was Erik-provider? _Where were the bacons?_ He wailed his anguish to the uncaring stairs.  
“You look real stupid, standing there an’ crying” Sabretooth said, from behind him. “They’re just stairs. You’ve climbed stairs before, back at Erik’s place.” 

Sabretooth licked his shoulder, nonchalantly, and stared at his brother, amused. Wolverine felt his fur begin to fluff out in irritation. His eyes narrowed.  
“I am not crying. I am expressing my torment!” Wolverine spat and hissed. “Here in this New Place without Er-“ He faltered. He did not miss humans. “Without _bacons!_ ”  
 _“Cryin’_ ” Sabretooth hissed back. “Look at Charles-who-is-home! He’s unhappy! Go _do_ something.” Wolverine looked. Charles-home did indeed smell sad. It was a cat’s duty to care for his servants. 

Wolverine sighed, deeply. He knew what he had to do.

\--------------

The problem with moving house is the _stuff_. Charles would swear that it multiplies every time it’s handled. What he packed up seemed to have grown by the time the moving van arrived, and what went into the moving van was definitely more than he and Raven had packed before she fled back to Rutgers, and what came out of the moving van was less than what he has left to unpack. This seems to be breaking one of the laws of physics. Perhaps he should blame CERN, or the Higgs Bosun; for increasing this mass when he wasn’t looking. Then again, after a week of sleeping on a camp bed, making tea with a frying pan and living a general disorderly and disorganised life, Charles thinks he may just be a little confused. It’s hard to tell. 

Still, at least he has proper bookshelves and tables and cupboards to put the stuff on or in, now, when he finds it. Some articles live a reclusive life; appearing when he doesn’t need them, and vanishing when he does. The tin opener and his screwdrivers are clearly playing hide and seek with him; it’s driving Charles crazy. Also, at least the cats like the bookshelves. They seize every opportunity they can to lurk on high, attempting to make their discomfort with this new situation shared by Charles pretty successfully. Nothing communicates disapproval better than suddenly being eyeball-to-whisker with a disapproving cat.

Charles was distracting himself from fretting over the cats by filling the bookshelves- his bookshelves, he reminds himself- when the doorbell went off. Grumbling, he left the cats and the books to their own devices, and went to the front door, pondering his caller. It’s probably one of three types. 

(a) Another “housewarming gift” from Erik being delivered. So far he’s received one bottle of wine, three rugs, and a hamper of food and utensils. Does Erik think Charles can’t look after himself? Although that last could have been Edie.  
(b) Ditto, from one of Erik’s friends, who have so far sent him several bottles of wine (Az); a complete directory of local take outs, shops and services (Janos) and a single, white chocolate cake. (Emma.) Charles waits with anxiety for whatever Victor thinks is appropriate as a welcoming gift.  
(c) A new neighbour, checking that the new inhabitant is capable of interacting with others. Or proving they can. The two he’s met- Jane Foster and her roommate Darcy Lewis- are both very friendly. Darcy brought him a spare casserole; apparently her mother fills her freezer with them and she always has to find volunteers to get rid of them. 

It’s a marvellous contrast to the last time Charles moved, when he and Raven were only greeted by the cockroaches and also the drunk who lived two doors down and had been hoping to borrow a cup of vodka. This apartment is in a much nicer neighbourhood.

His musings are cut short when he gets to the door. He reaches to unlock it, and before he can slip the chain on, just in case, the door is shoved open, violently. Charles jumps back, automatically, to escape being crushed between the door and the wall, and stares, horrified, at his visitor as the man barges in.  
“Hiya, Charlie.” Cain says, awkwardly. “This is your new place, huh?” Charles backs away. Cain follows him into the house proper. Behind him, the front door swings closed, softly.

There’s something different about Cain. Perhaps it was seeing Charles and his lawyers at the legal showdown; perhaps it’s the new apartment. Even full of open packing boxes and crumpled newspaper; it has a solidity, and dignity to it none of Charles’ previous places could ever hope to possess.  
“Get out, Cain.” Charles says, almost calmly. He waits, tensely. If Cain is in a punching mood, that’ll set him off immediately. Charles tries to remember where he left his new cell phone. 

Cain doesn’t immediately clench his fists, so Charles dares to break eye contact, in search of the phone.  
Cain shuffles his feet. He looks almost… awkward.  
“Hey, Charles, don’t be like that. I just wanna talk-”  
“You are not welcome here. I want you to leave.” Charles says a little shortly. Cain doesn’t move. Charles breathes in. “Now.”

Cain still doesn’t move, but he frowns. Charles’ gut clenches. He squares his shoulders.  
“If you have anything to say to me, Cain, after all these years, you can do it over the phone or by letter.” Cain takes another step towards him. “I don’t want to see you; do you understand me?”  
“Ah, Charlie.” Cain says, laughing slightly, to hide his discomfort. He hates having to crawl, but he’s over a barrel and he needs a favour. A favour from Charlie, how has his life come to this? “It’s good to see you’ve found your balls. I don’t wanna see you either, but I need-“

“I don’t care.” Charles snaps. He spots the phone. It’s plugged into the recharger; sitting on the surface next to the couch. Damn. He wanders a few steps towards the couch, trying for casual. Cain rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly.   
“It’s money.” He says, suddenly. Charles blinks.

“What?” Charles manages to get out, eventually.  
“I need money.” Cain says, calmly. “You got the Trusts-“  
“The Trusts are being dissolved,” Charles snaps. “I can’t touch them yet.” And even if he could, he wouldn’t for Cain.  
“You gotta have _something_.” Cain says, urgently. “Look at this place!” He waves a hand.   
Charles feels a deep wave of anger building in him. He moved here, was able to move here, because of his job; the one Cain _tried to get him fired from_.

“You tried to get me fired.” He says, almost at random. Cain shrugs. Charles wanders a few steps closer to the phone. He takes another deep breath trying to stay in control of his anger. “You’ve stolen money from me for ten years, you’ve attacked and harassed me since we first met; you’ve spread lies about me at work and you think I’ll _help_ you?” He shakes his head, watches Cains jaw drop at the amount of venom in his voice. Charles clenches his fists, thinking of the week he spent with Raven sleeping on his dorm room floor, till he was able to drop out of college completely, of the ramen cups made to last two meals, of the extra jobs, of the hunger and tiredness. 

He remembers the desperation, always pinching and scraping and wearing himself out; before Erik came along and his luck turned. He remembers feeling like this was all he deserved, these inadequate scraps were all he was worth, before Erik, and Edie, and the others opened Charles’ eyes.  
“Hey the work thing, that was… that was just a reminder.” Cain says.   
“A reminder? Of what?” Cain shrugs the question away  
“An’ anyway, you said tried. Means it didn’t work, right?” He appears to be trying a friendly grin. Charles stares at him till the smile fades, leaving Cain staring at him awkwardly, irritated at the pause.

“Cain. I have no money I can spare.” Cain shakes his head, opening his mouth. Charles picks up the phone, trying to make it look casual, as he continues, over whatever Cain is trying to say. “I really don’t. I’ve just moved house, my job is new, and, thanks to you, I haven’t exactly been able to make any savings.” Charles is proud of how calm and even his voice is. The calm façade cracks a little with his next line, though  
“Even if I had, what makes you think I would lend it to _you_?”  
“Lend? An’ I was hoping for a brotherly gift.” Cain starts, catches the flash in Charles’ eyes and continues. “Look, it’s not my fault, but… I kinda need the money real urgently.” 

Cain curses his ex. The bitch screwed him over real good, and the drug dealer is suddenly a lot less understanding about the debt she saddled him with. He can’t have heard about the inheritance drying up; but he’s demanding money left right and centre like he thinks Cain is a bad debt, or a bank now, or something.  
“I can’t” Charles says, hoping repetition will drive the fact into Cain’s thick skull.  
“Ya mean you won’t” Cain snarls, suddenly very much closer to him. Charles fumbles at the phone desperately, with sweaty fingers. Cain grabs him by the shoulders, and pushes him back. It’s not hard, just a reminder of who’s in charge here.

“Listen, you little shit, do you know the kind of people that are after me? I gotta give them something, gotta keep them happy, or they’ll kill me. You get that? _Kill me_!” He shoves Charles again, and he stumbles back against the bookshelves. Above their heads, Wolverine hisses a warning as the confrontation rocks his perch. Charles fumbles for his phone as it slips, and watches, horrified, as it bounces from his hand and onto the rumpled rug at their feet. Cain’s face twists as he sees it. He grabs Charles by his shirt front, twisting it, and forcing Charles up onto his toes. Charles spreads his arms out for balance, trying not to lose his footing.  
“I need that money!” he hisses in Charles face. Cain is absolutely determined. 

He isn’t going to end up as a salutary lesson to whoever the drug dealers want to send a message to. He is not. He knows what they do people who don’t pay, it’s far worse than anything he ever did to Charlie. Cain never used blades. Or cheese cutter wires.  
“I don’t have it!” Charles gasps. Cain snarls. He lets go of Charles with one hand, which he curls into a fist. Wolverine, already uneasy at being so high up and unsteady, decides that now is the right moment to descend from the top of the bookshelf. He does so in an elegant leap onto Cain’s head. Cain howls, and realises Charles as the cat’s claws dig into his scalp. Wolverine yowls and digs his claws in more firmly as Cain swipes at him in an attempt to dislodge him. 

Sabretooth, alerted by his brother’s cries, rushes into the fray. He claws at Cains’ trousers, trying to climb the man to get to his brother. Cain curses and bends, staggering, swiping clumsily first at the cat on his head and then at the one attached to his thigh. Charles dives for his phone, and yanks on the rug under Cain’s feet at the same time. Staggering, Cain goes down with a crash that shakes the house. Charles stops dialling momentarily, staring in concern until Wolverine claws at Cain again as he leaps away, leaving Cain sprawled and motionless at his feet. 

The cats stare at Cain as if they are trying to fry his brain through sheer will power. Cain moves his head, groggily. Charles is choking on a combination of fear and concern, and deep, gleeful satisfaction, when the doorbell goes. Charles gasps in relief. Even if it’s just Jane and Darcy again, he’s not alone. He runs for the door. Too dazed to stop him, Cain lets him go.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cain is given arresting news, and Wolverine & Sabretooth meet Victor and Logan.

It’s not Jane and Darcy at the door. It’s Victor and a man who looks vaguely familiar. He’s not much taller than Charles, and much hairier. His sideburns scowl at Charles forbiddingly.  
“Victor! I’m so pleased to see you and...” Charles says, pausing for introductions. Inwardly, he is almost breathless with relief.  
“Names’s Logan, bub.” The stranger grunts. Victor elbows him, and twitches before he offers his hand to Charles, who shakes it, slightly bemused. “Vic said you’d moved…” He trails off, unhelpfully. Charles looks to Victor for an explanation.

“Yeah. Logan’s my brother.” Victor adds in support “We were just in the area and…” Victor trails off as well. Charles is too relieved by their presence to query why they’re really there- or how Victor knew his address; unless he’s got it from Erik. They’re both tough people; he thinks Cain won’t do anything stupid in front of this audience. Well. Probably. Charles whirls when Cain shouts. Wolverine yowls. He leaves the door open as he turns and senses rather than sees Victor and his brother following him.

“You little furry bastards!” Cain fumes. He kicks out at the cat, but it dodges again, too quick for him to hit. The cats flee the room, scrambling past Victor’s feet. Cain is not in the best of moods. His head hurts, he’s bleeding from a dozen places- damn cats! - and Charlie is still telling him no, about the money. Charlie never says _no_. Not to a Marko. Cin resolves, there and then, to teach the little limey snot a lesson he’ll never forget. His hands curl into fists again.

“Cain. I asked you to leave.”Charles says, icily. Cain snarls something incoherent at him. He advances on Charles threateningly. Charles twitches. Logan cracks his knuckles and glances at Victor. Victor nods in return, watching Cain out of the corner of his eye. Both of them amble forwards, apparently casually bracketing Charles between them.  
“You want this guy to leave, prof?” Victor asks. Cain tenses, glancing at the brothers warily.  
“I...” Charles falters, then continues “Yes. Yes I would. He refuses to accept the fact that I can’t help him.” Cain glares at him. 

Charles refuses to flinch. He can’t help Cain, and even if he could, he wouldn’t.  
“You gotta do something-“Cain blusters.  
“ _You_ gotta do something, bub. Leave.” Logan all but snarls. Victor eyes Cain unworriedly. Cain is big, but he’s not bright and he’s not tough- not compared to Victor and his Doctor brother.. His face and hands are covered with scratches, Logan notes, amused.

In the end, it’s surprisingly quick and easy. Cain lurches forwards, fists up. There’s a blur of movement from the brothers. Cain makes a clumsy swing at Logan, and then another blur, which resolves itself as Victor holding Cain’s arms behind his back. Cain snarls and struggles, but subsides when the pressure of Victor’s grip increases painfully. Victor shifts his grip slightly, and Logan takes the offered arm cheerfully. Charles watches, gape mouthed in astonishment and amusement.

“Now, you’re leavin’ bub.” Logan snarls in Cain’s ear as they walk towards the front door. “And you ain’t coming back, we clear?” Victor growls beside him. “Back in a tick, Mr Charles.” Charles is too far away as they lurch out into the corridor, to hear Cain’s response, but it doesn’t please the brothers, judging by the yelp of pain Cain makes next.

“Trust me, bub, I’m a doctor.” Logan is saying faintly and cheerfully, as Charles sinks onto the nearest chair. “Want me to show you where it’s gonna hurt?”

 

“You don’t understand.” Cain blusters as they frog march him off. “Charlie’s my step brother; he’s gotta-“ He gets no sympathy from the two brothers, who continue to rush him out of the building. Charles had looked so strained and pale when he came to the door; it makes Victor angry.   
“You’re right, I don’t understand.” Logan said, cheerfully. “I also don’t care.”  
“No, what we care about is whether you understand.” Victor said. Cain stared at him, frightened and angry in equal measure.

“Understand what?” he asked, thickly.  
“Whatever you used to have, whatever you used to do to Charles, it stops _now_.” Cain recoiled from the venom in that tone. Logan raised his eyebrows. Victor was pissed. Damn. It was a good thing they’d got there before the bully had laid a hand on Charles. Things got messy when Victor lost his temper, and he liked Charles. Hell, Logan was starting to like him, too, even though they’d really only just met.

“Hey- you can’t” Cain started, protesting weakly. Logan grinned at his brother as Victor snarled back at Cain.  
“I can’t what? Do you have any I idea of what I can do? To you?” He raised a fist in front of Cain’s face; Cain twitched away from it. Victor took a deep breath, fighting for calm.  
“You touch Charles again- you talk to him, hell, you look at him, and you’re gonna find out what I can do. To each and every one of your bones.”

“What _we_ can do.” Logan said, firmly. “Understand?” Cain satred at them both, head swivelling from side to side.  
“Want to call the police, see if _they_ understand?” Victor rumbled. Cain slipped and yelped as he was wrenched back upright. He shook his head frantically.  
“Not necessary.” Logan grunted.  
“Oh, _I_ think it’s necessary.” Victor said. “I mean, he’s-“

“They’re already here.” Logan said, happily. Cain looked ready to bolt.  
“Oh.” Said Victor, also cheerfully. “Handy.” Logan laid a calming hand on Cain’s shoulder as the lady cop approached. He gave her a quick nod; she gave him a steady stare in response, until she saw Cain was trying to wriggle free. Logan tightened his grip and waved at her to continue.  
“Cain Roderick Marko? I’m Officer McTaggert.”  
“Yeah?” Cain grunted in response.

“You’re under arrest.” She said, her professional manner only marred by a wince when Cain’s breath hit her.  
“What? What for? I paid-“ Cain mumbled.  
He was cut off by McTaggert. Logan stepped away carefully as Cain allowed himself to be cuffed and read his rights.  
“But what _for_?” Cain almost howled. He felt as if he were trapped in a nightmare.

“Uttering forged documents, slander, libel and harassment.” Officer Mctaggert said, briskly. Cain was silent for a moment before he burst out  
“But we agreed he’d leave it alone if I-“  
“Leave it alone?” Victor said, dangerously.  
“The Xavier Trusts business…”  
“Xavier Trusts?” said the cop, as she guided Cain into the patrol car. “No, this is Stark Industries. Apparently you’ve been quite the trouble maker, Mr Marko.” 

She shut the door on his furious protests, and nodded to the brothers. “You might want to call his lawyer, if he’s your friend.”  
“He’s not, ma’am.” Logan said firmly. The cop’s face brightened. “We’re friends of his stepbrother, Charles Xavier.”  
“That’s his place we was marching him out of.” Victor added.  
“Charles Xavier? Xavier Trusts?” The cop said, with a fascinated look on her face.  
“I think it’s probably more white collar stuff” Victor said, shrugging. “Above my pay grade.”

“And mine.” Said the cop. “But then, me and my partner” - she waved at the red haired driver waiting patiently in the car “Are just bringing him in. Apparently there’s all kinds of detectives want to talk to him. Someone even mentioned FBI.” She eyed the brothers carefully as she climbs into her car. Logan and Victor grinned like snakes.   
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” Logan murmurs as they ascend the stairs back to Charles’s place.  
“Nope.” Says Victor. “I think this calls for a beer.”

“What calls for a beer? I’ve got some, anyway” Charles says as he pops his head out of his front door. “Come and meet my cats.” He adds as he disappears out of the corridor.   
“Can I tell him?” Logan begs, half seriously. _“Please?_ ”  
“Nope. Pleasure’s allll mine.” says Victor, as he closes Charles’ front door behind him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles cooks, Erik attempts to help, and Cain receives his just desserts.

Cain stared at the grimy bunk above him. He had never thought it would come to this. The damn judge hadn’t even denied him bail. He must have known that Cain couldn’t afford any. Where had it all gone? He barely had enough money to afford his lawyer’s fees, and it was getting pretty wearing. Still, at least sitting in jail meant the drug dealer couldn’t get at him, and might give him more time to scrape together the rest of the cash he was asking for. His lawyer was looking pretty unhappy, more and more often. Dumb bastard hadn’t been able to get him affordable bail, what did he think Cain was going to do, smile and say please to him? After that? No Marko had ever been in prison (apart from the drunk tank, a time or two) before this.

All this muttering about the major charges uncovered by investigations into the minor ones he’d originally been arrested on- he was a lawyer! Making things go away was one of his jobs! Threatening behaviour or harassment should have been a fine, a slapped wrist or something, not the decades long sentence embezzlement and fraud brought. Damnit, Charlie had promised not to talk about the Xavier Trusts, if Cain let him get his hands on the money, and Charlie had always kept his mouth shut before. Had always realised that Cain knew stuff about him that meant he’d be under his thumb forever. When had he changed?

A year ago, he’d been sitting pretty, keeping an eye on Charlie for fun and profit, and reaping the rewards of his and Dad’s hard work. He’d had a swanky apartment, girls- and girlfriends- on his arm whenever he wanted, and friends for any party or event he cared about. He’d had the income from the trusts and his own investments. Hell, he’d had the house at Westchester. Apparently, the first thing Charlie had done when the Trust had allowed him to was to sell it; at a knockdown price to some dumb educational charity or other. Showed that the Marko’s had done the right thing, taking care of the Xavier money, even if the law didn’t think so.

God, Charlie had no sense. Still, he’d realise it when he ran out of money, like Cain had, and all his new friends dropped him like a hot potato, like Cain’s had. Cain couldn’t regret having alerted Stark Industries to the nature of their newest employee; surely they’d fire him soon. Whatever that dumb HR dude had said, whatever Lensherr might have done behind the scenes, Cain had been smart. He had sent the letters, the evidence that Charles was unreliable and employing him was bad PR, right to the top. He’d sent it to the CEO as well as the HR department. So sooner or later, Charles was fixed, at least for this time.

It wasn’t as if Cain liked the old pile but it had been impressive. Now it would be full of kids. Charlie had even given them the grounds- some of the primest real estate in Westchester, and it would be full of kids and monkey bars. Cain closed his eyes again, and tried to sleep. He’d get out of this. Somehow. He was only up against a DA and dear ol’ dumb Charlie, he shouldn’t even have been slowed down by it. Maybe he was coming down with something. Yeah. Probably that was why.

Cain turned over, uncomfortably, on the thin mattress. He’d been nervous, but not scared, about going to jail- when they were dealing prisoners waiting for trial, the guards were a bit better behaved. And he wouldn’t be rubbing shoulders with the worst offenders, he’d thought. So he’d gone in, ready to make a name for himself on the inside, see that no one messed with him unless they were prepared to get messed with. Only that plan hadn’t worked out so well. No one told him the Shawshank Redemption wasn’t true to life. No one liked someone throwing his weight around, apparently.

One display of muscles later, and Cain was the one visiting the infirmary with bruised ribs and a black eye. And sitting in solitary the rest of the time. Cain refused to think about what life would be like if he was convicted for any of the charges that kept racking up. He was not going to jail permanently, period.

Whatever his lawyer said.

\------------------

“Let me help.” Erik said, plaintively.  
“Get back!” Charles brandished the spoon defensively. “This is the first meal I have cooked for all of you.” He gave a determined nod, and stared at the chopped tomatoes as if he was trying to will the can to open by itself.  
You’ve cooked before, Edie said-“ Erik said, one eye on the bubbling pots.  
“The first I have cooked for you in my new apartment.” Charles continued without missing a beat. “And I shall do it myself, and you will eat it and enjoy it- if it’s good, which it should be-“ he wavered, anxiously.

“I’m sure it will be perfection, Charles.” Erik rumbled, soothingly. Charles could not grow any more flushed, as the steamy heat of the kitchen was already pinking his cheeks, but he shifted slightly, embarrassed and pleased simultaneously.  
“Yes. Thank you. In any case, I am cooking this. You stay sitting over there!” He waved his spoon again, pointedly.  
Erik bowed his head in ironic obedience and kept perching on the side of the kitchen counter.

Charles returned to staring at the tin of tomatoes. He hadn’t quite considered the difference between scraping a meal together for two and putting on a spread for Erik, Edie, Janos, Az, and all the rest of his friends. He wasn’t panicking, Charles told himself, firmly.  
“Your water is boiling over.” Erik said, helpfully.  
“No advice from the guests, please. I cooked for myself and Raven for years, you know.” Charles said, crisply. He reached for the can opener, automatically; before he remembered that these cans, being premium brand, were ring pull ones.

“I know.” Erik said. “Kept both of you alive and food poisoning free, too.” He didn’t mention the difference between the kitchens and budgets Charles had battled with in the past in comparison to the one he had now. Erik liked seeing Charles on a mission, and depressing him with memories of the past would only distract him.  
Stealthily, he ate an olive. Charles’s decision to make lasagne the day before, and heat it up on the day of the housewarming, was a good one, but it did mean Erik had to wait for tonight’s supper. He sighed. Outside, either Wolverine or Sabretooth demanded entry into the kitchen.

“Charles. Please can I help?” he said, a few minutes later.  
“No. Pass me the oregano, it’s in the cupboard by your ear.” Charles said, stirring the meat sauce viciously. Erik stretched out a long arm and fumbled in the cupboard, not moving from his perch. He found the herb, and ate another olive.  
“Stop eating the nibbles!”  
“I’ll bring you more tomorrow.” Erik tried to soothe his love. Charles was having none of it. He shook a finger at Erik and reached for the herb. Erik raised the jar above his head. Futilely, Charles reached for it. Erik seized the opportunity to kiss him as he stretched up.

Charles sighed. Occasionally he felt Erik’s delight in his smaller stature was annoying.  
“Please hand me the oregano?” He tried. Smiling, Erik shook his head. “I’ll kiss you again if you do?” he offered, hopefully.  
“Not interested.” Erik sing-songed, looking ceilingward, innocently.  
“Liar.” Charles looked pointedly at Erik, who flushed and fidgeted under that hot gaze.  
“Nope.” He said again. Charles sighed again, putting his hands on his hips.

“You’ll only spoil it for everyone if I can’t add the right herbs because you’re holding them hostage.” He said, trying to sound as serious as possible.  
The twitching of Erik’s lips indicated Charles was not entirely successful.

\-------------------------------

The lasagne was a roaring success, Charles having employed some underhand but extremely enjoyable methods to obtain the herbs from Erik. Emma pronounced the salad delicious. The garlic bread had ended up about twice as much butter in it as it needed, which meant Charles could not rate it as a complete success, but most of it got eaten, anyway.  
“And what have you for us for dessert, Charles?” Az asked, hopefully.  
“Oh, I haven’t.” Charles said, cheerfully. There was a faint murmur of rebellion around the table, muted probably by the large amount of lasagne everyone had consumed.  
“I brought sacher torte.” Edie said. The murmur turned happier.

Edie caught Charles’ eye and they smiled at each other. Erik felt briefly curious at the shared glances, until he realised that sacher torte had been the first thing that Edie had fed Charles; back when he had just been moved into Erik’s house, cats, broken arm and all. Privately, Erik decided that had he known what Victor’s car accident would bring him; he’d have paid the other man to do it. He repressed the thought; if he had been more… open, then, he might have spotted Charles at any of their previous meetings and not upset and offended him. And Erik found he couldn’t subscribe to any train of action that caused Charles pain, even if he did benefit from it eventually.

He glanced at the smaller, bright eyed man by his side, smiling and chattering away, and felt the guilt recede. There was no denying it; Charles seemed to be happier now, even in his new apartment. Erik didn’t understand why, if Charles was prepared to move, he had not simply moved into Erik’s house permanently. It would have cut down on the fuss and bother to only have one move, after all.

“You are going to be living with me eventually.” He had pointed out, logically, the last time they had talked about it, lying next to each other in Erik’s very comfortable bed. Charles had frowned at him. He’d become a little worried then.  
“Aren’t you?” He’d asked, then, anxiously. Charles frown had softened, as Erik’s sudden bout of worry became clearer to him.

“Yes, of course.” He had said kindly. “We’ll end up living together. Somewhere. Maybe even here.” He waved a lazy arm around the bedroom.  
“But?” Erik had heard the unspoken but, and wanted it spoken.  
“But, I think now would be a little soon. For me.” Charles had shifted uncomfortably as Erik’s face had drooped, sadly. He had given a little sigh. Charles had curled himself more tightly into Erik’s arms and explained.

“I just… I’ve spent the last ten years scraping and pinching and flinching… I’d like to have got over at least some of that before I moved in with you.” He gave Erik an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”  
“I hope Cain rots in hell.” Erik had growled.  
He didn’t think the prison sentence Cain had finally gotten was enough, given that it carried the chance of parole, after twenty years or more. A life sentence would not have been enough, either.  
“Not all of it was Cain. Some of it I did to myself.” Charles had protested. Erik simply hugged him tighter, growling a denial.

“Well, your Coulson has made sure he’s trapped in a legal hell, anyway.” Erik had murmured, trying to hide his inner gloating at the idea. Phil Coulson had been determined to ensure Cain Marko would be in prison for the rest of his life, or at least as long as they could make it stick. And “they” had included his boss, Pepper Potts, and her boss, Tony Stark  
Charles frowned, unhappily. Erik kissed his eyebrows, but they did not unwrinkle themselves.  
“He does deserve it, Charles. They didn’t uncover anything he hasn’t actually _done_.” Erik had pointed out. He refused to remind Charles of the things Cain was _still_ getting away with; such as _breathing_.

Erik could happily have killed Cain for every bruise he had seen on Charles’ body after the first attack; it was only because he intended to spend the rest of his life in Charles’s presence and not in prison himself, plus a lingering deference to the rule of law that had stopped him from taking a knife to the blowhards fat gut.  
“I’m not disputing that.” Charles had said, finally, after a long silence. “I just wish… it didn’t have to be this way.” He sighed, unhappily.

“Yeah, Cain could have been born less of a stupid violent bastard, I suppose.” Erik yawned. “He’s only getting what he deserved, you know. And Natasha and Clint have earned a generous fee from Stark Industries over it.”  
“I don’t know why Coulson was so set on making sure this all got through the courts.” Charles had murmured. “None of my previous employers-“  
“Yes, and they’re regretting it now, seeing as Tony won’t do business with _any_ of them.” Erik had felt grimly satisfied. Charles had smiled.

“I didn’t think he’d remember me, you know.” He had said then, a little shyly.  
“You’re pretty unforgettable, my darling.”  
“The last time we spoke we were nine years old!” Charles had said.  
“Nevertheless. I understand the pair of you blew up a kettle?” Erik had teased, gently. Charles flushed, and pulled the blanket over his head.

Erik didn’t tell him that Tony still felt guilty he had never known what Charles was going through. He’d assumed Charles had gone back to Europe on his mother’s death; and had been distracted by his own parents’ death so soon thereafter. Some of Tony’s vengeful drive against Cain, via the destruction of all his business interests, could be explained by that guilt, the rest was just Tony. Not that that had seemed important to Erik then. He had pulled down the blanket, and then… Well, he was left in no doubt how much Charles loved him, even if he didn’t want to move in with Erik just yet. Well, Erik would just have to persuade him. He even was willing to put up with Charles’ cats, wasn’t that a sign of true love? 

At that moment, Erik noticed, Charles was stealing Erik’s share of his mother’s sacher torte.  
“Hey!” He protested, but could not ignore the pleading look in Charles’s eyes. He sighed, loudly, and let Charles have the cake. No matter. “You are far tastier than any cake.” He said, quietly and seriously into Charles’s ear, just to see him blush.

THE END


End file.
